


Building Homes From What We've Known

by santana-lopez (nightshifted)



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightshifted/pseuds/santana-lopez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana Lopez fights for her family. MMA AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Part I**

"Left, left, right, _block_. Right, right, left, _block_."

Santana keeps her chin tucked in as she throws her fists out against the padded gloves Puck has held up in front of his face. Her feet move quickly on the mat as she circles him, ever-attentive. Without warning, Puck whips out his hand, slicing the air at ear-level, and she ducks, narrowly avoiding being hit.

Santana lunges forward, whipping one arm around his neck as the back of the other presses against his chest. She locks her hands together near his shoulder and pushes down as hard as she can, bringing her knee up to strike against his upper abdomen.

Puck groans as she connects, and she releases him, lightly tapping the tops of his gloves before taking a step back.

Puck clutches his chest. "Shit, Lopez," he hisses. "What the _fuck_ was that for?"

"You're losing your touch, Puck," she replies, bouncing in place to keep herself moving. "Last year, you could've blocked that grapple, easy."

" _Last year_ ," he counters, straightening up a little, "you weren't a fucking bulldozer jacked up on crystal meth."

Santana swings her leg and hits his thigh, though not at full force. "Don't even joke about that. You used to fight. You should know how many cups I have to pee in."

"Yo, Scout!"

Santana turns to the call and finds Matt across the room, motioning wildly for her to approach. She glances at Puck, who waves the back of his hand dismissively at her.

"Take a breather, Lopez."

Santana grins and tugs at her gloves, the Velcro crunching as she peels the fabric away. "You're the one looking a little winded, Puckerman."

Puck puffs out his chest. "Show a little respect for your elders. Puckzilla taught you everything you know."

Santana laughs as she chucks her gloves at him. "Like you'll ever let me forget that."

"Scout! C'mon!" Matt calls out again. "I ain't getting any younger."

"Rutherford!" Puck fires back. "You slacker. Leave my fighter alone."

Matt flips Puck the bird in response, and Santana bumps her fist roughly against one of Puck's padded gloves before turning to head in Matt's direction, picking up a light jog as she weaves between lines of punching bags and the tireless determination of the people pummeling them.

\--

 _The sun beats down unrelentingly, casting dry heat across the sprawling suburbs of Las Vegas._

 _Santana finds solace in a hammock under the sparse shade of a pair of sturdy palm trees in Matt's backyard, a popsicle in one hand and an open book in the other. She likes it better here than in her own home, and Matt and his mom have never minded having her around._

 _(His mom_ did _give him a Serious Talking To about statutory rape the past summer when he turned eighteen and she was barely fourteen. They both still howl with laughter at that one, because_ gross _, you just don't do your brother.)_

 _Santana looks up from her book when Matt walks past, chugging a lawn mower behind him even though there are barely two patches of actual grass in his backyard._

 _"Hey, Jem."_

 _Matt stops in his tracks. "What'd you just call me?"_

 _"Jem," Santana repeats._

 _"I'm Matt," he says slowly, then frowns. "Are you tripping? 'Cause I'm about to kick your scrawny little ass if you are."_

 _Santana shakes her head and grins. "No way. Can't put that crap in my body if I'm gonna be a fighter. You taught me that." She holds up the book in her hands, shows him the cover. "But I'm reading this for school, and—"_

 _Matt chuckles. "You're like, the only kid I know who actually does reading assignments. You some kind of nerdy nerd?"_

 _"Fuck off," Santana huffs defensively. "Maybe you got all your brain cells knocked outta you, but I wanna be_ smart _, okay? And anyway, this one's actually pretty good. The main character chick calls her brother 'Jem'."_

 _"Gem," Matt echoes skeptically. "Like, the stuff you find on jewelry."_

 _"No, Jem. With a J."_

 _Matt wrinkles up his nose. "That's the wimpiest nickname I have ever heard, man."_

 _Santana shrugs, biting a chunk off the top of her popsicle. "He reminds me a little of you. I think I'm gonna start calling you that."_

 _"Don't use that around the gym, San," Matt protests. "Guys'll never let me live it down." He pauses thoughtfully. "What's the bro call his sis?"_

 _"Scout."_

 _"That's a lot more badass than Jem." Matt's eyes light up. "Maybe I should start calling you Scout."_

 _Santana makes a face. "Don't do that."_

 _"Oh?" He grins. "And why not,_ Scout _?"_

\--

Matt is holding out a towel when Santana finally reaches his side.

"Scout, damn, took you long enough."

Santana rolls her eyes. "You've got the patience of a fucking fruit fly," she complains, grabbing the towel from him and draping it across the back of her neck. "What's up?"

Matt glances over his shoulder at the exit, and a sly smile plays at his lips. "Wanna ditch?"

"Puck's gonna kill us," she points out, even as she grins.

Matt shrugs. "He'll get over it, and I happen to know Brittany has Thursday afternoons off."

Santana tugs her towel up to swipe across her forehead. "Q arranged a title match for me in two weeks. I gotta train."

"You do what you want, Scout," Matt replies, his shoulder rising in another shrug, "but I'm just saying. You don't spend nearly enough time with that pretty girl of yours. Not recently, anyway."

Santana glances back toward Puck, who has stricken up a conversation with another one of his fighters. Matt's got a point; she really hasn't seen much of Brittany lately. Too many hours clocked at the gym means not enough spent at home with her girlfriend. Her incredibly sexy dancer girlfriend who loves pancakes and rainbows and loud sex. Suddenly, ditching doesn't seem like a bad idea anymore, and really, pissing off Puck is actually a pretty sweet side deal.

She turns back to Matt and grins. "Let's go."

The two split up to pick up their bags from separate locker rooms. Santana pulls a fresh change of clothes out of her bag and heads toward the showers. Tossing aside her towel, she strips off her shorts and sports bra before stepping into a stall and turning the knob. Santana hisses as the first droplets of freezing water hit her heated skin. _Fuck_. She keeps forgetting that their main boiler is on the fritz and Artie isn't doing shit all to get it fixed. If he weren't already a goddamn cripple, the unsolicited cold showers would certainly incline Santana to make him one.

Santana steps out of the shower five minutes later, shivering from the cold. She towels herself off quickly and squeezes as much moisture out of her hair as she can. She's pretty sure Matt's going to bitch about her dripping water all over his car, but his car's a piece of shit Chrysler anyway, so who the fuck cares.

She pulls on a pair of shorts and a tank top over her bra and panties, then tosses everything else into her bag and slings it over her shoulder. She slips on some socks and a pair of sneakers and heads out.

Matt is leaning against the opposite wall when she steps out of the locker room.

"The hell took you so long?"

Santana rolls her eyes and brushes past him. "Some of us prefer not smelling like a dump truck."

"Hey, I smell like roses, man," Matt protests as he follows her out.

"'Cause you barely ever break a sweat. Slacker."

"Law of averages," he dismisses as he falls into step next to her. "Wouldn't need to slack off so much if you took it easy once in a while." She ignores him, and he smirks. "You just wanna smell nice for your girlie."

Santana turns briefly to him. "And so? Least I got one to smell nice for."

"Oh-ho!" Matt chortles. "Feeling feisty today."

Santana stops abruptly in front of Artie's office and pokes her head in. Artie is sitting calmly behind his desk, his wheelchair pushed comfortably under the desktop. He's tapping away at a calculator and periodically scribbling into a notebook when Santana knocks against the doorframe. He looks up at the noise.

"Santana. Nice to—"

"Abrams," Santana addresses, cutting him off, "when the hell are you gonna fix the hot water? It's been a week of nothing but cold showers."

Artie adjusts his glasses. "The superintendent is supposed to make a visit today."

"A _week_ , Artie. If I had balls, they'd have shrunk back into my crotch."

Artie turns bright red. "I'm sorry, Santana, really. I—"

"Yo, Abrams," Matt calls out, sauntering into his office. "We're outta here."

Artie glances briefly at his large round wall clock. "You do realize that Puck will, proverbially, flip his shit?"

Santana shrugs. "There's someone more important I wanna go see."

Immediately, Artie lights up. "Say hi to, um, to Tina for me, will you? If you see her."

Matt laughs and reaches across the desk to clap his hand against Artie's shoulder. "You're hopeless, Abrams."

"Wanna come with?" Santana offers, finally stepping inside the cozy office.

Matt shoves Santana playfully. "Scout here only wants you to distract Tina 'cause she don't like those looks Asia keeps tossing her girl."

Santana reddens and shoves him back. "Shut the fuck up, Matt. I'm not jealous of Tina Cohen-fucking-Chang."

Matt laughs. "Tina's not into the snatch, trust me. Artie would know, wouldn't you, Artie?"

Artie flushes. "That was a long time ago," he says, and there's a quiet nostalgia to his words that unexpectedly makes Santana's heart hurt.

"You gotta quit pining for this girl and just go for it," Matt continues with a shrug. "She loved you once, didn't she?"

Artie goes quiet, and Santana kicks out against Matt's shin.

"We'll say hi to her, Artie," Santana assures.

Artie hesitates halfway to a grateful smile and just kind of watches the two fighters, a glimmer of uncertainty suddenly gracing his features. It's kind of endearing, actually, especially considering he'd been a complete menace in the ring. It's no secret how Artie got in that wheelchair: freak training accident two years back left him paralyzed below the waist. Too bad, too, because he'd been a pretty decent fighter in his own right. Bantamweight, so it didn't count for much, but he could still lay the smackdown with the best of them.

Then he got injured and used his life savings and insurance payments to pull their training facility from the brink of bankruptcy so others could keep living his dream. Kinda masochistic, if you ask Santana, but he seems to enjoy managing the place enough, and he's a pretty chill owner most of the time, except when he's refusing to fix that fucking boiler.

Somewhere in all of that, there'd been Tina. Santana doesn't know the whole deal, and the guys around the gym are eager to paint the picture of a superficial bitch who couldn't handle her boyfriend's sudden handicap, but Brittany has always insisted the reasons run deeper, and Santana is inclined to believe that.

Santana grabs Matt's bicep and gives him a tug. "All right, let's go. I wanna catch Britt before her class ends. Boiler better be fixed when I come in tomorrow, Abrams."

"Later, Abrams," Matt calls over his shoulder as he lets Santana lead him out. "And man it up! Hot dancer chick like Tina won't be single forever."

\--

"Your hair's dripping water all over my leather seats."

Santana smirks. "Your car's a piece of shit anyway."

"Oh, you take that back, Scout. You take it _back_."

Santana just laughs.

Matt quirks a quick smile in her direction. "Sometimes, you're still that awkward little ten-year-old with dirt smudges on her cheeks, askin' if me and Puck can show you how to fight."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Getting nostalgic? 'Cause I sure don't miss being ten."

"Well, hey. You made something of yourself, didn't you? Would be lying if I said I wasn't proud of you."

"You know, Matt, you're a fucking sap sometimes," she deflects, turning toward the window to hide her smile.

Matt laughs. "You should see yourself with Brittany, sis. You two overshoot sap by about ten miles and three declarations of eternal love."

"Shut up," is all Santana can really muster, because it's not entirely untrue, but still.

Matt grins. "When you gonna make an honest woman outta that girl anyway? You've been together what, ten years now?"

"Eleven this October. I—" A flush creeps up her neck. "You think she'd marry me?"

Matt chuckles. "You're so fuckin' cute sometimes, you know that?"

"Fuck off," Santana grumbles.

"Yeah," Matt finally answers, laughter brimming from his words, "yeah, I think Brittany'd marry you. She's loopy enough to have stuck with you for so long, isn't she? She might be the only one who _will_ put up with your crazy for the rest of your life, so you best tie her down when you can."

She punches him in the shoulder, and the sudden nervous energy flowing through her makes the hit land a little harder than she'd intended. Matt's hand slips an inch against the steering wheel, and the car sways slightly before he pulls it back under control.

" _Shit_ , Scout. You wanna get us into a wreck?"

"Sorry," she mutters. She watches the cars passing outside the window for a moment before turning back to Matt. "I've been thinking about it, you know. Popping the big Q. I don't know, Matt. I'm no good at shit like that." She frowns, an unfamiliar ache rising in her chest. "Whatever, it's not even legal in this fucking state."

Matt glances briefly at her. "Brittany won't care what it's called so long as she has you and your vow."

"She knows I'm gonna love her forever, all right? She knows. I don't need a piece of paper and a goddamn ring. I can't even wear it during training and bouts or whatever."

"It could mean a lot to her," Matt counters, his shoulders rising in a shrug. "You guys never talked about it?"

"Getting married?"

"Yeah, maybe start a family." He grins. "Give me a couple nieces and nephews to spoil rotten."

Santana rolls her eyes. "You want us to get a white picket fence, too? A dog, two cats, and a fucking minivan?"

Matt laughs. "Hey, all that shit's optional, you know that. What you and Britt have – that's precious, man. But if you've never talked about the future like that, maybe you should start."

"You having a mid-life crisis or something?"

"Fuck you, Scout," he fires back, but he's grinning. "I just turned twenty-nine, or did you forget? I'm just saying. If I had someone love me the way Brittany loves you? I'd have made it official about eight years ago."

Santana looks back out the window and doesn't say anything else for the rest of the ride.

\--

 _All the single ladies, all the single ladies. Now put your hands up. Up in the club, we just broke up, doin' my own little thing…_

Eight tiny bodies sashay to the music, most missing the choreography completely, but they're all beaming like they're having the time of their little lives. Brittany stands at the front of the room, a green sleeveless tee and a pair of rolled-up sweatpants clinging to her body as she leads her class of tiny dancers through the song. She's laughing, her eyes lit up and her cheeks flushed pink, a few stray strands of blond hair sticking to her forehead.

Santana doesn't even try fighting the huge grin that spreads across her face. She knows that Brittany loves closing all her classes with this song, and her kids worship the ground she dances on, so they adore it as well.

One of the parents standing nearby leans closer to Santana, startling her. Santana had been way too busy staring at Brittany to even notice the other people lined up against the back wall.

"Which one is yours?" the woman whispers, smiling as she looks back and forth between Santana and Matt.

"Oh, no, we're not—he's my brother. I'm not here to pick up a kid." Santana motions toward the front of the room. "I'm Brittany's girlfriend."

The woman seems taken aback for a moment, then quickly falls back into a smile. "That's lovely. You two make a cute couple."

Santana smiles politely. "Thank you."

The song comes to an end, and Brittany leans down and says something to her kids that makes them all squeal with excitement. She laughs as she gives each of her students a high-five before straightening up again. Finally, she notices Santana and Matt and races over, launching herself into Santana's arms.

"Hey, Britt," Santana greets with a chuckle as she stumbles back a step.

Brittany pulls away, just enough to press a quick kiss to Santana's lips. "Babe, what are you doing here? Thought you were training all day today."

Santana grins. "I wanted to see you."

A mischievous glimmer appears in Brittany's eyes. "Puck's going to kill you."

"I can handle Puck," Santana replies with a shrug, reaching up to brush Brittany's hair away from her face. "Wanted to spend a day with my gorgeous girlfriend," she murmurs affectionately, circling her arms around Brittany's waist.

Brittany smiles. "You trying to get into my pants, Santana?"

Santana spans her fingertips underneath the hem of Brittany's top. "Is it working?"

Brittany laughs. "Yeah, but—I'm all sweaty and gross." She wrinkles up her nose. "I need a shower. Those kids keep me on my feet."

Santana's voice is soft when she speaks again. "Let's go home, get you cleaned up, and then let me take you out to dinner." She smiles a little when Brittany just looks at her. "Is that okay?"

Brittany kisses her, gentle and reassuring. "What's the special occasion?"

"I need a reason to take my girlfriend to dinner?"

"No, but—okay." Brittany smiles. "Are you going to bring flowers to my door and sweep me off my feet?"

Santana laughs. "B, we live together."

"Yeah, but it'd be totally romantic."

Beside them, Matt coughs with purpose. "You two done schmooping all over each other?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "Nobody's making you look, Matt."

Matt turns briefly to Brittany, then back to Santana, and he lets out a laugh. "Yeah, I'll go wait in the car," he says, turning to leave. Before he disappears out the door, he calls over his shoulder, "Keep it PG!"

Brittany smiles at Santana as she leans in for another kiss. "So, dinner, huh?" she teases. "You must _really_ want in my pants."

"Mm," Santana hums, "that, or I just really love you." She smirks. "And I _know_ I don't need to take you out to dinner to get into your pants, so…"

Brittany laughs. "Are you implying I'm easy?"

"I'm implying that I'm a total _stud_ ," Santana returns with a grin. "And that I really, really love you."

Brittany beams. "I really, really love you too."

\--

 _The gym is Santana's sanctuary. It's where nothing can touch her, nothing can_ hurt _her. She's in control of how much damage she takes, how much she dishes out, because there are rules that are as good as law, and those who break them aren't given second chances. It's about respect, not violence. She'd never go seeking more violence; she's seen enough of it in her thirteen years._

 _"Hi."_

 _Santana turns to the greeting. A lanky blonde girl around her age is seated next to her on the bench, a tiny pair of gray shorts and a bright orange tank top revealing thin but toned limbs. Her hair is pulled back, away from her face, and her features are sharp. Her eyes are blue blue blue. She's smiling._

 _"I'm Brittany," the blonde offers._

 _"Santana," she replies with a short nod._

 _Brittany smiles. "You come here often?"_

 _"Yeah, only like, every day."_

 _"Oh." Brittany surveys the room. "It's my first time."_

 _"I know," Santana remarks, looking Brittany up and down. "I'd have noticed you otherwise." She flushes and shuffles her bare feet against the floor, a hint of nerves creeping to the pit of her stomach._

 _Brittany just smiles as she points a thumb over her shoulder. "I dance," she explains brightly. "Across the street. I'm a dancer."_

 _Santana turns back to watching Puck and Matt exchanging light blows. "That's kind of… girly," she comments noncommittally._

 _"You're a girl," Brittany points out._

 _"Yeah, but not like, a girly girl. I don't dance. I punch shit." Santana lifts her bandaged fists. "See?"_

 _Brittany studies Santana's hands for a moment. "Sounds fun. Can you show me how?"_

 _"To kickbox?" Santana frowns. "I don't think so. You don't look so tough."_

 _"I'm tough!" Brittany protests. "I'm really strong. Wanna see me do a back flip?"_

 _"No," Santana replies even though she kind of does. Her cheeks grow hot. "Whatever," she dismisses. "I don't punch pretty girls anyway."_

 _Brittany beams._

 _"N-not that you're pretty," Santana stammers._

 _"Oh."_

 _"Not that you're_ not _pretty either," she clarifies, a sharp flush creeping up her neck. "You're just like, average."_

 _"Okay." Brittany reaches out and touches Santana's hair. "_ You're _pretty, Santana. Like, really, really pretty."_

\--

"Took you two long enough," Matt complains from the driver's seat, his arm draped around the passenger's side headrest as he watches Brittany and Santana climb into the backseat.

"Sorry," Brittany apologizes, buckling herself in. "Had to let Mike know I wouldn't be needing a ride home today."

"And relay Artie's message to Tina," Santana adds, reaching for her own seatbelt.

Brittany smiles. "I'm pretty sure Artie didn't want you to tell Tina that he still wants in her pants, San."

Matt laughs and reaches for the ignition. "That's exactly what I would've told her. Abrams is a good guy, but sometimes he just needs a little push." He starts to pull the car out of the parking lot. "How'd Tina take it?"

Santana shrugs. "She just kinda stuttered something and left. Weirdo."

"Babe, you can be kind of intimidating," Brittany tells her. "Tina doesn't know how to act around you sometimes. You could be a bit nicer to her, you know."

"Tina is very… touchy-feely," Santana complains, disapproval evident in her voice. "With you."

Brittany reaches over and brushes the edge of her hand against Santana's cheek, fingertips momentarily hitching in Santana's still-damp hair. "I love you."

Santana leans into Brittany's touch and sighs. "I know, I know, I know," she mumbles, "I'm being stupid. I love you too."

Brittany's hand slides down Santana's jaw line before pulling back. Brittany smiles, then turns away to look out the window, taking stock of the city flying past them.

Santana leans back in her seat and peers out her own window. She's been carpooling with Matt since before she could even legally drive. Their cars have changed, their destinations too, but the two of them haven't. It's a comforting thought. Nowadays, Matt mostly complains about her clocking ridiculous hours and keeping him at the gym until the middle of the night, but neither would exchange their car rides together for anything, so he sucks it up and counts the few times he manages to drag her away before evening as victories.

Santana's phone buzzes against her thigh and she fishes it out of the pocket of her shorts. It's a new text from Puck.

 _I'm going to KILL YOU. FUCK. And Rutherford. You two are in so much shit._

Santana chuckles and types back: _Pretty sure Matt and I can both take you. Separately._

Immediately, her phone vibrates again. This time, it doesn't stop, and Quinn's name and picture appear across the display. Santana puts her on speakerphone and tilts the screen toward Brittany so she can see who it is. Brittany smiles.

"Hey, Q," Santana greets pleasantly.

Quinn is breathing through her nose. "Lopez. I am going to _murder_ you in _cold blood_."

"You're even less menacing than Puck." Santana looks up and smiles at Brittany. "Pretty sure even Britt could take you."

"Hi, Quinn," Brittany pipes up. "Don't worry; I wouldn't beat you up."

Quinn sighs, suddenly sounding resigned. "Hi, B."

"Yo, Fabray!" Matt calls out from the front seat. "Tell Puckerman to cut his best fighter some slack. Let her get some lovin' from her girl, recharge her batteries. She'll be back tomorrow to kick his ass."

There's some shuffling at the other end of the line, and then Puck's voice blares through. "Rutherford, she has _two weeks_ before the big bout. You want her to get bloodied up? 'Cause I don't, and I don't think Blondie does either."

Brittany's hand wraps tightly around Santana's wrist. "Don't get bloodied up."

"I'll be fine, B," Santana reassures, tugging Brittany's hand up to her lips to brush a kiss against her knuckles. "Quinn and Puck just need to get their panties untied."

"Santana," Quinn's voice reappears across the line, her words gritted angrily, "when you come in tomorrow, your ass is _mine_."

"Pretty sure her ass is mine, Quinn," Brittany quips, laughter in her eyes, "and I don't want to share."

"All of you are just _infuriating_ ," Quinn seethes.

Brittany reaches over and takes the phone from Santana. She flicks it off speakerphone and pulls it to her ear. "Quinn, please don't be mad," she says, as discreetly as she can, which isn't discreet at all. "I can share, okay? If you really want, but I don't think San likes it that much when someone other than me touches her, so you'll have to—"

Santana yanks the phone away from her girlfriend and presses it against her own ear. "Disregard _everything_ Britt just said," she amends over the sound of Quinn's laughter.

Brittany regards her seriously. "Santana, I wouldn't be jealous if you slept with Quinn. I know you only love me like that."

"Babe, I'm not going to sleep with Quinn to prove a point. Besides, she's like Matt to me, and that's just gross."

Matt chuckles from the front seat but otherwise just keeps driving.

"What about me?" Puck booms into her ear. "Does that mean I still have a chance?"

Santana makes a face. "You're like a poster boy for herpes, Puck," she quips, "and there's really only one pair of pants I want into these days."

Brittany leans closer, straining against her seatbelt, and laughs into the phone. "Sorry, Puck. She likes me better."

"I do," Santana murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to Brittany's lips.

Quinn's laugh resounds against Santana's ear. "You two," she says around the last remnants of laughter. "Okay, listen up, Lopez. You the only one who can hear this?"

"Yeah, Q."

"Okay, just—" Quinn sighs, but her tone is more amused than annoyed. "I swear you're going to be the death of me. Look, take your girl out tonight, treat her to a good time, but tomorrow morning, you get in here and you work your ass off, you hear me?"

Santana manages a grin. "Quinn, I got this."

"Yeah, yeah, you're a pain in the ass," Quinn quips. "Don't stay out too late, and eat properly. No burgers, no ice cream, no alcohol."

"Trust me, last time I had a real American meal, Hummel chewed me out for fifteen minutes straight. His face got real red; it was hilarious."

"He's your nutritionist, San," Quinn returns dryly. "Try _not_ pissing someone in your life off for a change."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"I'm hanging up now," Quinn mutters. "Don't let Britt keep you up all night."

From the background, Puck's voice calls out, "Be a bro and set up a live feed from your bedroom, Lopez!"

The sound of Quinn smacking Puck drifts to Santana's ear, and then the line goes dead. Santana chuckles as she pockets her phone.

Brittany is watching her. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Santana replies. "Quinn wants us to have a good time and Puck wants us to have a good time in bed."

Brittany's eyes light up. "I plan on doing both."

Santana grins. "Which do you wanna do first?"

"Okay, you two," Matt cuts in, "get out of my car before one of you starts mounting the other and I have to put in new seats."

Santana hadn't even noticed that Matt had pulled up to their complex, but sure enough, their building looms over them, and Matt has his head turned and is grinning at them from the driver's seat.

Santana reaches over and pats Matt on the shoulder. "See you later, bro."

Brittany smiles at Matt as she reaches for her door. "Later, Matt."

"Bye, Britt," Matt replies, then reaches out and grabs Santana by the wrist before she has a chance to pull away. He glances briefly at Brittany, halfway out the door. "Scout," he addresses. "Remember what I said."

Santana bows her head momentarily, chest tightening. "Yeah, Matt, I got it."

Matt lets her go. With an affectionate shove in Matt's direction, Santana slides out of the car after Brittany and closes the door behind her. Matt salutes them through the window, then drives off. Brittany slides her hand into Santana's and pulls her toward their building.

\--

 _"Lift your fists," Santana instructs. "And you don't have to bounce around like that. This isn't DDR."_

 _Brittany's gloved hands rise up to obscure half her face, but she keeps jumping in place, her bare feet tapping a syncopated rhythm against the mat. "Like this?"_

 _Santana studies Brittany's form. "Yeah, that's better. Tuck your chin in. Always protect your face. You take a good blow to the head and you might straight-up pass out."_

 _"Can I punch now?" Brittany asks, her voice muffled behind her gloves._

 _Santana raises her own hands, fitted with padded gloves, in front of her face. "Okay, keep your left close to your body and swing out your right. Aim for my gloves. Go ahead."_

 _Brittany throws a punch, and Santana actually takes a step back, unprepared for the intensity of the impact. Brittany beams. "That was good, right?"_

 _"Yeah, Britt," Santana replies, anchoring her feet against the mat, "but that's your left fist. I said swing with your right."_

 _Brittany pouts. "Oh darn. I have a birthmark on my right hand," she explains, looking down at her fists, "between my thumb and pointer finger. That's the only way I remember, but these gloves are covering the mark, and—"_

 _"Wait," Santana cuts in, eyebrows furrowing. "How do you remember that the mark is on your right hand, not your left?"_

 _"Because my birthmark is_ right _there," Brittany replies, hinting obviousness. "Duh."_

 _"That doesn't make any sense," Santana counters, frowning. "Okay, look, which hand do you write with?"_

 _Brittany lifts her right hand._

 _"All right." Santana slides her padded glove under Brittany's extended fist. "You_ write _with your_ right _hand. Get it?"_

 _Brittany seems to think about it for a moment, then she lights up. "That's so smart! You're_ so _smart, San."_

 _Santana chuckles, a light flush creeping up her neck. "Yeah, well, of course I am."_

 _Brittany thrusts forward her left fist. "What about this one? How do I remember that?"_

 _Santana gapes at her. "It's just the other one. If you know one, you know both."_

 _Brittany frowns, unsatisfied. "Yeah, but—there's such a fun trick for my right hand. I want one for my left hand or it's going to feel lonely."_

 _Santana immediately thinks it's completely ridiculous and almost tells Brittany so. But Brittany is worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in thought, and Santana recants. She wracks her brain for a solution, wanting so much to please Brittany and not even quite knowing why._

 _"Okay, are you ready?" Santana finally says. "The_ left _hand is the one that's_ left _over."_

 _It's totally lame, but when Brittany's whole face fills with awe like it's the most brilliant thing she's ever heard and she whispers, "You're like, a genius, Santana," Santana cannot help but smile._

 _Santana doesn't bother telling Brittany that she's left-handed herself so none of that applies to her. She decides to leave that for another time, another day, another kickboxing lesson._

\--

Hot water pounds down against Santana's skin, and damn, it feels good to be taking a _warm_ shower. She smiles at her companion, who smiles back, and even though it'd been a flurry of messy kisses and strewn clothing on their way from the front door to the bathroom, they'd calmed down as soon as the water had hit them, both content to admire the other's naked body without attempts to have sex with the other. It's a nice feeling.

Brittany turns to Santana with serious eyes. "What was Matt talking about earlier?" she asks. When Santana returns nothing but a blank stare, Brittany clarifies, "He said to remember what he told you. What'd he say?"

"Oh, that," Santana mumbles, muscles tensing. "It was nothing."

Brittany nods and reaches for the shampoo. "Okay."

Santana purses her lips. "He just doesn't know how to mind his own business, you know?"

"Okay," Brittany repeats, her tone holding neither accusation nor irritation.

Still, Santana cannot help but feel guilty for avoiding the question. She brushes a hand along Brittany's hip. "I mean, I guess he still feels like it's his job to look after me, but I'm twenty-five. I can handle my own shit."

"Santana," Brittany says softly, leaning forward to press her lips against Santana's shoulder. "You don't have to tell me," she continues, "and I won't be upset, I swear. Hearing you ramble like that is a little worrying though."

"You ever think about the future?" Santana blurts out.

Brittany grins. "Like what I'm going to do to you in bed tonight?"

"No, I mean—more long-term," Santana manages, then smiles a little. "Keep that in mind too though," she adds as an afterthought.

Brittany stills. "Are we really going to have The Talk now?"

"It has a name?" Santana asks, her heart suddenly racing. She shrugs, her nerve endings hyperaware of the water pounding down against both of them. "It's just, we were so young when we started; I don't think either of us really thought that far ahead, but maybe we should? I can't imagine living my life without you, but—what do you want?"

Brittany's reply is immediate: "You."

"You have me, baby," Santana says gently. "What else?"

"I guess—I guess a family, at some point," Brittany answers. "Only if you want one too though," she offers.

But Santana knows the last part is spoken in haste, that Brittany doesn't really want Santana to take her up on that clause. Santana doesn't have to be entrenched in every part of Brittany's life to recognize the way Brittany lights up when she teaches her kids, the adoring way she speaks to them. Santana's never been sure about any of this before, but she's watched Brittany over the years, watched her laugh with so much _joy_ etched across her beautiful features, that when Santana speaks her next words, she means them with every fiber of her being.

"I want a family too, B."

Brittany lights up. "Do you? How many?"

Santana smiles faintly. "However many you want."

"Sixteen?"

Santana laughs. "If you think we can handle that, sure."

"Are you serious about this?" Brittany asks, her eyes growing wide.

"Absolutely," Santana replies, punctuating her certainty with a kiss. "Wait, did you really want sixteen?"

"No," Brittany laughs, "but—you mean this? Like, babies. Living, breathing, pooping babies. With me."

Santana smiles. "Who else would I have them with?"

Brittany lunges forward, trapping Santana's naked body between the cool tile wall and the slick heat of Brittany's own torso as hot water beats down against them.

"I'm so turned on right now," Brittany murmurs, leaning down to nibble at Santana's neck as her hands slide shamelessly to Santana's thighs. "So," Brittany continues, "I'm going to have sex with you."

Santana laughs. Brittany's never had a knack for subtlety, and Santana wouldn't want it any other way.

\--

Santana feels stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. More stupid than that time Matt tricked her into eating a plastic grape because it'd grant her superhuman strength – shut up, she was like, four – or that time Quinn walked in on her and Brittany for the first time and gaped at them like the hand of God would smack them down into the depths of Hell right then and there.

First of all, she'd stepped into a florist shop for probably the first time in her life and felt so out of place, and while she'd like to learn what each and every single flower and color means (no, not really, but she _does_ want this to mean something), she'd had to cut the florist off short because she needed to get back before Brittany noticed that she was missing. Which, okay, was a little rude of her, _maybe_ , but the florist had looked at her like she was seeing the first sign of the apocalypse, and Santana had to shove her hands deep into her pockets to stomp the impulse to swing her fist at something. Something shaped vaguely like a florist's head.

She'd left the shop with a single long-stemmed red rose – nothing mind-blowing or incredibly creative, but whatever. It's the sentiment that matters, right? And she has the distinct feeling that she could get Brittany a yam and she'd love it just as much. Santana smiles a little at the thought.

But then she's standing outside her own door, simultaneously trying to work up the courage to knock and wondering just what kind of messed up mental illness she has that she can't even knock on her own goddamn door, when Jean Sylvester, their neighbor from down the hall, sidles up to her. Sue, Jean's older sister, is close behind, looking stoic as ever in a red tracksuit.

"Did you lose your keys, Santana?" Jean asks, the words stumbling sweetly from her lips.

Santana smiles. "No, Jean. I'm just, ah—" She motions at the rose in her hand and tosses Sue a cautious glance. "—trying to be romantic."

Jean's eyes twinkle. "Big date?"

Santana laughs. "Something like that." She looks down at the flower in her hands and suddenly feels a little nauseous. "Actually, would you like a rose? I don't know if I can do this."

The older woman smiles brightly. "Sue says I can do anything. So can you, Santana."

"I think what Jean is trying to say is, suck it up, Lopez," Sue supplies with a sneer. "Why if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were scared of your own condo. Are you inflicted with a horribly debilitating illness? Like the homeless person's version of agoraphobia."

"No, I just—"

"I've seen you throw down," Sue interrupts, looking her up and down. "You've got more guts than this. Maybe start showing it a little. Not that romance has any place in a relationship, but if your little blonde eats it up, more power to ya. Now, Jean and I have someplace else to be, so good luck, and while I try avoiding this as much as possible, if we happen to pass each other in the halls again, don't update me, because I don't care how it goes."

Jean smiles. "You can tell me," she offers, then waves goodbye. "See you, Santana."

Sue nods once in Santana's direction before following Jean down the hall.

Santana takes a deep breath and waits until the Sylvesters have disappeared into the elevator before lifting her hand and rapping her knuckles lightly against the door, managing a noise that sounds about as wimpy as she feels. She quickly straightens her back and knocks harder. The sound resonates. There, badassness restored.

A moment later, the door swings open, and Brittany looks surprised to see her.

"How did you—" Brittany looks over her own shoulder, toward their bedroom. "Babe, I thought you were getting dressed."

"Hi," Santana breathes.

"Hi," Brittany giggles. Her eyes move from Santana's face to the rose, and she beams. "Is that for me?"

"Yeah, I—" Santana laughs, trying not to flush. "I don't know why I've never brought you flowers before," she says, the words tumbling together, "and I think I pissed off the florist when I was there—"

"Of course you did," Brittany cuts in affectionately.

"Yeah," Santana exhales, suddenly losing her train of thought. "I'm here to take you out and show you a good time, is what I'm saying. Except you need to let me in because I haven't changed yet." She pauses and lets out a nervous chuckle. "I suck at this."

Brittany's hand circles Santana's wrist, and she tugs her inside, calmly closing the door behind them. Brittany takes the rose from Santana and gently places it down on their console table, next to her keys and a small stack of mail. Brittany presses Santana against the back of the door and just smiles at her.

"You're so sweet," Brittany murmurs, leaning in enough to press a light kiss to Santana's lips. "Are you trying to make us late for dinner? Because that shower set us back a good half-hour, and this—" She palms Santana's hip. "—could take a little longer."

"I—I want to take you to dinner, Britt," Santana stammers, eyes closing at the sensation of Brittany's lips against her neck.

"Mm, okay," Brittany mumbles against Santana's skin, "but let me kiss you for a few minutes."

Santana leans back, tilting her head to expose more skin, and Brittany gently kisses her way up and down the length of Santana's neck, careful to lavish attention to the spot at the end of Santana's jaw that makes her toes curl. Brittany moves lower, to the base of Santana's neck, and tongue brushes assuredly across collarbone. Santana quivers, marveling at the way Brittany finds the delicate nuances of her body when Brittany's never been any good at finding her keys or her socks or once, a long, long time ago, a wheelchair.

Brittany lifts her head and cradles Santana's cheeks between her palms. Her eyes are bright and piercing and _sure_. More sure than Santana has ever seen them.

"Marry me."

Santana freezes, her heart leaping to her throat. "W-what?"

"Just—marry me, Santana," Brittany murmurs, leaning down to steal a quick kiss. "I don't have a ring, or a big speech prepared, but I want… you. That's it. So marry me, and we'll worry about the rest later."

Santana's eyes widen. "No."

Brittany laughs. "San…"

"No no no," Santana mumbles over and over, desperately trying to push off the door, to get back on her feet because her head is spinning and her chest feels like it's being pulled a hundred different directions.

Brittany's face falls. "No?"

"Not _no_ ," Santana pushes out, her voice louder than necessary. "I mean, I wanted to be the one to propose to _you_." She flusters. "I was supposed to have this big elaborate plan with probably some lame shit like flower petals and scented candles and that really disgusting rose wine you insist on drinking solely because it's pink. I wanted to take you to dinner and compliment the way you look and maybe get you a little drunk so you'd be more likely to say yes. I'd have this gorgeous ring, and I'd get down on one knee, and there'd be fucking violins playing in the background. I wanted to _do_ this, Britt. _I_ wanted to ask _you_."

Brittany presses her lips to Santana's and smiles into the kiss. "Well, I'm sorry I stole your thunder, babe. You can still propose to me, if you'd like? After you get all that stuff together. I'm not going anywhere."

Santana laughs and covers her eyes, horrified. "I love you so fucking much, you know that?"

Brittany pulls Santana's hands away and presses a light kiss against Santana's lips. "If I propose to you again," she asks seriously, "are you going to reject me again?"

Santana laughs again, at the sheer absurdity of the whole thing. "No, Britt. I'll say yes this time, I promise."

"Okay." Brittany smiles. "Santana Grace Lopez, will you please marry me?"

"Yes," Santana whispers, her heart soaring out of her chest. "A thousand times, yes."

Brittany laughs. "I don't want to marry you a thousand times, Santana. That'd actually be pretty terrible. Is that nine hundred and ninety-nine divorces or do we just throw a few years worth of wedding receptions? 'Cause I don't think we could afford either."

Santana loops her arms around Brittany's neck and pulls her down, their lips meeting in a hungry kiss. Santana cannot make out anything in her head, cannot even _think_ about what any of this means beyond the here and now and the feeling in her chest like she's about to explode into a billion pieces of unadulterated joy that float freely in the air until someone traps the fragments in glass jars like fireflies glowing in the night.

She almost laughs at her own stupid analogy, at the fact that the only thing she can think about in this moment when she's kissing her fiancé – her _fiancé_ , holy _shit_ – for the first time is that fireflies glow when they're horny, something Brittany had informed her of once because Brittany watches the goddamn Discovery Channel.

Brittany pulls away, breathless, and smiles. "Are we really going to dinner tonight?"

"Yes," Santana exhales, sounding unconvincing even to her own ears.

"Okay," Brittany laughs, pressing harder against Santana's body, hips grinding torturously. "Go get dressed."

Santana reaches up to smooth down Brittany's hair, her own hips rolling instinctively. "Gonna have to let go of me first, babe."

Brittany grins. "You're an internationally-ranked mixed martial artist, San. I'm sure you can manage."

Santana's hands slide down over the curve of Brittany's ass, settling against her thighs. Without warning, she hikes Brittany up, anchoring her legs against her own hipbones, and Brittany lets out a delighted squeal as her arms loop around Santana's neck.

Santana carries Brittany to the couch and gently plops her down. Before Brittany can try any more of her tricks, Santana musters up every ounce of willpower she has and untangles herself.

"I'm going to get changed – you are _not_ going to distract me – and then I am going to take my fiancé—" Santana smiles, and Brittany mirrors. "—out to dinner." She leans down and brushes a kiss to Brittany's forehead, then turns and heads to their bedroom.

Brittany stays put on the couch, and okay, _maybe_ when Santana's sure she's walked out of Brittany's field of view, she pumps her fist in the air like a little kid on Christmas morning, excited energy thrumming through every inch of her body. She's allowed to indulge in a few lame acts, okay? She's getting _married_. To Brittany. Married to Brittany. It all seems completely surreal.

Her conversation with Matt feels like ages ago now, and holy _shit_ , Matt is going to flip _out_ when they tell him. And Quinn, and Puck, and everyone else back at the gym. Santana is eyeing the phone on her nightstand when Brittany saunters in and smiles at her.

"Just put something on, babe. Not to ruin the surprise, but I plan on taking it all off later. Besides, you look great in everything."

"I—when do you want to tell everyone?"

Brittany blinks. "Does someone not know you look great in everything?"

"No," Santana laughs, "about the engagement."

"Oh!" Brittany smiles. "Tomorrow, maybe? I just want to spend the rest of the night with you, and that won't happen if I tell my parents and sister tonight."

A thought occurs to Santana, and she shuffles anxiously. "Should I like, call your dad and I don't know, ask his permission?"

"A little late; we're already engaged!" Brittany laughs. "And no, because you're going to worry about this all night and I don't want you to be thinking about my dad when I'm trying to have sex with you."

Santana smiles. "Okay. And everyone else?"

Brittany bites her lip thoughtfully. "I want you to be there when I tell Mike and Tina. And Quinn."

"Yeah, Matt and Puck, too," Santana adds, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline at the thought. "All right, how about this? Saturday. We get those five to lunch. We tell them then."

Brittany lights up. "Okay, but just so you know: keeping this a secret from Mike is going to be the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

"Yeah," Santana breathes, "I know the feeling. Matt's going to know what's up the moment he slides into my car tomorrow morning. And Quinn. Puck's probably just going to think I got a good lay."

"Well, he wouldn't be _wrong_ ," Brittany argues.

"You feeling a little overconfident today?" Santana teases.

Brittany smiles and shrugs. "I'm going to prove it in a few hours."

Santana just grins like a madman as she reaches into her closet.

\--

"Kurt's not going to like this, San."

Santana brings the plastic cocktail glass to her lips. "He won't know."

Seated beside her on the bench, Brittany looks mildly concerned. "He'll know," Brittany insists, playing with her own glass. "Remember that time you had a Skittle?"

Santana laughs. "Yeah, because the dude's like a little gay ninja and jumped out of nowhere after I popped it into my mouth. You'd think he of all people would appreciate tasting the rainbow."

Brittany giggles and leans closer, her head coming to rest against Santana's shoulder. "You can't go in tomorrow with a hangover."

"Not from this fruity little thing," Santana counters, looking at her strawberry daiquiri. "It tastes like juice and pansies. I'll be fine."

The sky overhead is dark, but the rows of lights from the Bellagio in front of them illuminate their surroundings, casting a pleasant glow across the still water before them. Somewhere along the way, this became their place. This bench. These fountains. The pitcher of strawberry daiquiri that Brittany insists on getting every single time even though it hasn't managed to give Santana a decent buzz since she was sixteen.

"Dinner was amazing," Brittany murmurs.

Santana chuckles. "We almost got kicked out."

"Only because you're a troublemaker," Brittany chides affectionately.

"They got your order wrong, B."

"Yeah, and they offered free desert for their mistake!"

Santana smiles. "Only _after_ I threatened to rip their kitchen apart."

Brittany lifts her head long enough to press a kiss to Santana's cheek, then settles back down against her shoulder.

The two fall quiet as they wait for the spectacle to start. There's light chatter from the people around them, yet Santana hears nothing but the soft cadence of Brittany's breathing, sees nothing but the rise and fall of her chest. Santana rests her head lightly against Brittany's and places her drink down on the bench, reaching instead for Brittany's hand.

A moment later, the fountain comes alive, a sudden burst of water rising high above the surface, eliciting a blissful noise from Brittany. The first notes of Frank Sinatra's _Fly Me To The Moon_ drift into the air, and Santana cannot help but smile at the perfect timing. The fountains in front of the Bellagio have always been so good to her, she thinks as she settles in to watch the show.

Santana has watched the fountains hundreds of times over the past decade, dozens alone with this song as accompaniment, but there's an overwhelming warmth in her chest now that she can't quite qualify. Laughter bubbles from Brittany's throat at every jet of water shooting high into the air.

Halfway through the piece, Brittany starts to hum, the notes falling easily from her lips, and Santana just listens as she takes in the sight before her. The water sways to the beat, _dancing_ with the music, and no wonder Brittany loves it so much here.

" _In other words,_ " Brittany sings softly, " _please be true._ "

" _In other words,_ " Santana joins in, " _in other words, I love…_ "

" _You_ ," they harmonize together.

Brittany laughs softly, eyes shining as the last jets of water finally fall and the pool of water begins to stagnate again. Neither makes any effort to move, and Brittany is quiet for so long that Santana thinks she's dozed off until Brittany's head suddenly lifts from Santana's shoulder.

Brittany smiles. "Tonight was perfect."

"It was," Santana agrees. "Night's still young, babe."

Brittany nuzzles against Santana's neck. "Let's get married."

Santana laughs. "Yeah, I think that's what it means when you propose and I say yes."

Brittany shakes her head. "No, I mean, right now. Let's get married right now."

"Right now," Santana echoes.

"Yeah, we live in Vegas, Santana. We can get married in five minutes."

A small smile plays against Santana's lips. "Quinn's going to kill us. Your parents, too, probably."

"We can throw a proper wedding later. Maybe after your fight so you can actually eat your own wedding cake. Okay? But I want to be your wife right now. Tonight."

"Okay." Santana's laughter is uninhibited and genuine and a little bewildered. "Okay, B, let's get married."

\--

 _"This isn't like, a date, okay? I don't date girls."_

 _Brittany just smiles sweetly. "Okay."_

 _"How'd you get this anyway?" Santana asks, pointing at the pitcher of daiquiri sitting between them. "You're like, fourteen."_

 _Brittany shrugs her shoulders. "Mike knows a guy who knows a guy who…" She trails off, sounding confused. "I think that guy knows the owner of—I don't know. They give me five bucks off a pitcher, though."_

 _Santana takes a sip and makes a face. "It tastes like Strawberry Shortcake peed in this cup."_

 _"How do you know what Strawberry Shortcake's pee tastes like?"_

 _Santana holds out her cup. "I don't, but this is gross; I don't want it."_

 _"I can't drink all of this by myself," Brittany says, eyeing the pitcher, "and Mike says never to drink too much, especially if I'm on a date."_

 _"You're not on a date," Santana is quick to clarify._

 _"I didn't say I was." Brittany's lips upturn. "I can't drink all of this by myself," she repeats pointedly._

 _Santana shrugs. "Throw it out."_

 _"That's wasting," Brittany argues._

 _"Give it to Patches on your way home."_

 _Brittany thinks about it for a moment. "Do you think Patches likes strawberry daiquiri?"_

 _"He's homeless," Santana comments. "He'll take whatever he can get his hands on, especially if it's booze."_

 _Brittany shrugs. "He's actually a pretty nice guy."_

 _Santana frowns. "You_ talk _to him?"_

 _"I talk to everyone," Brittany answers. "Like you, at the gym."_

 _"_ That's _why you talked to me?" Santana asks, her frown deepening at the realization that she's actually a little disappointed that Brittany hadn't spoken to her for a better reason._

 _Brittany's hand is suddenly on Santana's cheek, soft and warm. "I talked to you because you're really pretty, and you looked nice," she replies with a smile, "and I wanted to be your friend."_

 _Santana flushes, cheek burning as she pulls away from Brittany's touch. "Yeah, whatever," she mutters. Then, as an afterthought, "I'm not nice."_

 _"You agreed to teach me how to fight," Brittany points out. "That was nice."_

 _"Only because you wouldn't shut up about it," Santana snipes._

 _Brittany flashes a smile. "I only asked once."_

 _Santana kicks her sneakers against the ground. "You're stronger than you look, okay? I got a good eye. That's all."_

 _"You didn't have fun?" Brittany asks. When she doesn't get a response, she adds quietly, "I had fun."_

 _Santana is silent for a moment. "I wouldn't still be teaching you if I hated your guts, would I?"_

 _Brittany beams, leaning in to press a sloppy kiss to the corner of Santana's mouth. Santana's skin immediately tingles from the contact, but she pulls back and wipes at her lips with the back of her hand, embarrassed. Her tongue darts out, tasting the remnants of sweet strawberry and rum. She feels herself reddening and doubles her efforts._

 _"Blegh," Santana grimaces, "what'd you do that for?"_

 _Brittany's smile is bright. "I like you too."_

\--

"I love this state and this country, but sometimes there are things that are just fucking unfair."

Brittany laces their fingers together. "I don't care what that piece of paper says, San; you're still going to be my wife."

They're standing outside the office of the Secretary of State, and Santana is clutching a manila envelope with their domestic partnership certificate in her hands. It's a bittersweet moment, because while she's always known that her state doesn't recognize marriage between two women, she's never quite understood what that's like until this very moment. It feels like a slap to the face.

Santana squeezes Brittany's hand. "Aren't you even a little upset that we're being marginalized like this?"

Brittany smiles faintly. "You know what helps? Imagine if we had a baby named Nevada."

Santana chuckles. "Is that name on your list? Because I'm vetoing it."

Brittany laughs. "I don't have a list, and we're not naming any of our kids Nevada. Just listen. What if we do everything right in raising Nevada and she still grows up believing something we don't agree with? She doesn't mean to hurt anyone; she's just misguided. But she's an adult." Brittany looks pointed at Santana. "Do we beat her up and force her to see things our way? No, we love her anyway. We can encourage her to understand where we're coming from, but in the end, the decision is hers."

"Except that it's not our daughter we're talking about," Santana argues. "It's the big wigs sitting in their cushy offices, _judging_ us because of who we love."

"If we want them to be accepting of our differences, shouldn't we also be accepting of theirs?"

"But we're _right_ ," Santana fires back, "and they're _wrong_."

Brittany softens. "I'm not saying it's fair, Santana," she explains gently. "I'm just saying that we have to understand where _they're_ coming from, too." She slides a hand to the small of Santana's back. "You okay?"

Santana sighs and leans in, pressing their foreheads together. "You're the most selfless person I know," she says in a whisper, "and you're going to make such an amazing mom to a little baby not named Nevada."

Brittany beams. "I know. Ready to get married?"

"Yeah." Santana lifts her head and smiles. "We can't get married by Elvis though."

"Why not?"

"Because it's like, the biggest cliché of this entire city."

Brittany leans in and presses a kiss to Santana's lips. "You know that we have a gorgeous gazebo on the complex next to the outdoor pool? And that the woman living in 4H is a pastor?"

"The redhead with the creepy bush baby eyes?"

Brittany smiles. "Her name is Emma, and her eyes are not creepy. But yes, she's married people before. It's kind of late now, but—"

Santana tugs Brittany toward her car. "Let's go wake that clean freak up."

\--

Santana doesn't care what Brittany says; Emma Pillsbury's eyes freak her the fuck out, especially now that the redhead is staring at the two of them, looking completely bewildered. She's been in the same position for a good minute, ever since Brittany had asked if she'd marry them.

"Lady," Santana says, cutting into the awkward silence, "we're not asking you to skydive here."

"Um, okay, yes, but—has the paperwork been filed?"

Santana holds up the envelope. "We've got the certificate right here. Look, we don't want anything elaborate. Legally, we don't even need a ceremony, but just to make it official, you know?"

"We're going to have a bigger one with family and friends later," Brittany adds. "I just want to consume the marriage tonight."

"Consummate, B," Santana corrects gently.

"Yeah, that," Brittany nods. "I want to have a lot of sex with my new wife, basically."

Emma's eyes grow impossibly rounder as she squirms uncomfortably. "Okay, well, I didn't need to, um, to know that, but to do this properly, you'll need at least two witnesses."

"We'll find some!" Brittany exclaims, turning to look at Santana, who nods. Brittany smiles and returns her attention to Emma. "Does that mean you'll do it?"

Emma fiddles with the neckline of her sweater, then nods. "Yes, okay. Do you have personal vows prepared?"

Santana looks at Brittany, then back at Emma. "No," she replies for both of them. "I want time to write mine, so we'll save that for the other ceremony."

"We don't have rings either," Brittany adds, "so you can skip that part too."

Emma nods. "That's fine. All you basically need to remember is that the first time I ask you something, you answer, 'I am,' and the second time, you answer, 'I do.' Can you do that?"

"Yeah," Santana confirms, "we got it. Meet us down at the gazebo in an hour?"

Emma nods again, eyes still large as ever, and she quickly exchanges goodbyes with the other two and closes the door, leaving Brittany and Santana alone in the hallway. Brittany smiles, takes Santana's hand, and pulls them to the elevator.

Once they've stepped inside, Santana turns to Brittany. "Ideas for witnesses?"

"Jean Sylvester," Brittany replies without missing a beat.

Santana quirks an eyebrow as she reaches to push the button to the eighth floor. "She's sweet, but you do know that she comes as a package with her sister Sue, right?"

Brittany shrugs. "We need two witnesses anyway."

Santana isn't sure what makes Brittany so trusting of the two Sylvester sisters, especially because she's pretty sure Sue periodically sets off the fire alarm in the middle of the night just to keep people on their toes, but when Santana really thinks about it, they're probably the two people in the building least likely to blab to the tabloids.

Not that Santana is a huge celebrity or anything, but she has gotten noticed on the street before, and she's had to fight her fair share of nasty rumors circulating the mixed martial arts community over the years. So she doesn't exactly want this marriage thing getting around yet. At least not before telling family and friends. Sue and Jean? Safe bets.

The elevator stops on their floor and Brittany pulls Santana to the Sylvesters' door. Brittany knocks gingerly. A moment later, the taller Sylvester answers the door in the same red tracksuit from earlier.

"Are you lost or just blind?" Sue taps her door number with her knuckles.

"We got married!" Brittany blurts out.

Sue's lips twist into a sneer. "Despicable. Also, illegal. Don't tell me you skipped over the little addendum known as Question 2 in the Constitution of Nevada."

Before Santana can step forward and tear Sue a new one, Brittany continues, "We want you and Jean to be witnesses at our wedding in an hour."

Sue stares at them, features unmoving. "Well now I'm just horrified."

Jean appears behind her sister and smiles at her guests. "Hi."

Brittany immediately steps forward and pulls Jean into a hug. "Hey, Jean, Santana and I got married! You wanna be at our wedding?"

Jean's eyes light up, and she claps her hands as her head bobs eagerly. Sue's lips pull into a straight line, and Santana smirks. Gotcha.

\--

"We rejoice with Brittany and Santana that out of all the world, they have found each other, and that they will henceforth find the deeper meaning and richness of human life in sharing it with each other."

Emma's eyes may be buggy as hell, but her voice is soothing and surprisingly strong in the night. Brittany is smiling at Santana, their hands clasped tightly between their bodies. The summer air is breezy but warm, and they'd chosen to dress lightly. Brittany is wearing a yellow sundress, and it'd taken some convincing, but she'd managed to get Santana to slip into a matching white one. Brittany's hair is pulled back loosely by a yellow ribbon, her golden locks flowing down her shoulders.

The area is dimly illuminated, but it doesn't matter. Santana sees everything.

"Brittany, Santana," Emma addresses, "please face each other."

"They're already facing each other!" Sue calls out from a few feet away, where she and Jean are seated on lawn chairs. "Get on with it, Erma."

Emma fumbles for a moment, then turns to Brittany. "Okay, um, Brittany, are you ready to enter into this partnership with Santana, believing the love you share and your faith in each other will endure all things?"

"I do. I mean, I am." Brittany is grinning.

Emma rotates her head to face Santana. "And Santana, are you ready to enter into this partnership with Brittany, believing the love you share and the faith in each other will endure all things?"

Santana squeezes Brittany's hand. "I am."

Emma smiles. "We have been called together as witnesses to the happiness that this couple has found together, and to the pledges they will make to each other for the mutual service of their common life." Emma looks at Jean and Sue. "Do you, representing the community, now offer your blessing and support for this couple, and wish them the best of lives together? If so, say, 'we do'."

"We do," Jean enunciates.

"Yeah, yeah, sure thing," Sue adds. "Boy, I'm glad I'm not your next-door neighbor. Those walls are like paper. Don't need to hear you two making the beast with two backs tonight. Or any other night."

Jean presses her index finger insistently against her sister's lips. " _Shh_ , Sue. You're not supposed to say anything right now."

Sue looks mildly annoyed, but she shuts up.

Emma clears her throat. "Um, moving on…" She turns back to Brittany and Santana. "Please join your hands."

Brittany tightens her grip around Santana's hands, and Santana smiles.

Emma continues, "No other human ties are more tender and no other vows more important than those you are about to take." She pauses purposefully. "Both of you come to this day with the deep realization that the contract of marriage is sacred as are all of its obligations and responsibilities."

Emma turns to Brittany first. "Brittany, do you take Santana to be your wedded wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her, so long as you both shall live?"

Brittany's eyes glimmer with unshed tears. "I do," she whispers, her breath ghosting Santana's face.

Again, Emma shifts her attention to Santana. As Emma repeats the vow to her, all Santana can think about is the word wife, and it makes it so much more real. Her heart pounds in her chest. She's pretty sure that legally, Emma isn't supposed to be using this terminology to describe them, and she's never been more appreciative of someone for bending the rules. Wife. Her wife. _Brittany_ , her _wife_.

"—so long as you both shall live?"

Santana swallows hard, fighting an onslaught of tears. "I do," she manages to croak out. "I _do_."

Emma smiles warmly. "Here in the space between you both lies all the future of the fragment of the universe which is your own. May every blessing and grace be yours, as your lives are now bound in each other's keeping. Forasmuch as Brittany and Santana have consented together to join their lives in the bonds of matrimony, and have witnessed the same before this company, I now pronounce, by the authority vested in me, and in accordance with the laws of the State of Nevada, that they are wife and wife."

Brittany is in Santana's arms before she can react, and she's kissing her, all soft lips and unapologetic need. Emma is saying something, likely to close out the ceremony, and Sue is firing barbs back at her, but Santana hears nothing except the soft sounds coming out of Brittany's mouth. Feels nothing but sheer exhilaration and Brittany's hand pressed lightly against the back of her neck as she reins her in.

"You're mine now," Santana whispers when they break apart. She's pretty sure she's crying but she doesn't care. "You're _mine_."

Brittany's smile is soft and sure. "Silly," she murmurs back. "When have I not been yours?"

And if Santana hadn't been crying before, she knows for certain that she's doing it now.

\--

 _"Santana?"_

 _Brittany voice rings hollow in the deserted locker room, and Santana startles at the sound. She jumps off the bench and brings her wrists up to her eyes, wiping furiously. "Go away." Her voice comes out raw._

 _Brittany appears from behind a row of lockers. "San?"_

 _"I said go_ away _," Santana growls, hating the way she already feels slightly better at the sight of Brittany, but hating even more that the urge to lash out rises in her chest like bile._

 _Brittany is undeterred, and she takes a few steps forward. Instinctively, Santana backs up, until her spine presses against a row of lockers behind her. Brittany stops a foot in front of her._

 _"I'm hungry," Brittany says. "You want lunch?"_

 _Santana's jaw drops open, but she quickly shuts it again. "No, leave me alone."_

 _Brittany doesn't move. "We're friends now."_

 _Santana clenches her jaw. "What's your point?"_

 _"That means I don't leave when you're crying," Brittany explains patiently._

 _Santana turns away. "I'm not crying."_

 _"I don't leave when you're sad, either," Brittany adds._

 _"I'm not fucking_ sad _," Santana yells, the words echoing around the empty locker room. "Leave me alone. And we're not_ friends _. I teach you how throw punches properly so you can defend yourself. That's all."_

 _Brittany's eyes are piercing. "You come to my house sometimes," she says quietly._

 _"So what?" Santana snaps._

 _"We watch movies, and we eat ice cream, and—"_

 _"Big deal," Santana interrupts. Her throat feels dry._

 _Brittany just stands there and_ watches _her. Frustration boils inside Santana, and she brings her ungloved fist up and pounds it against a locker door. Brittany jumps at the loud crash, and Santana feels sick to her stomach. The metal is lightly dented where Santana's fist had connected, and fresh tears spring to her eyes as pain sears up her hand._

 _Brittany's palm is sudden and warm on her aching knuckles. "Santana…"_

 _Santana's heart leaps to her throat as Brittany's arms slide around her. Santana is slick with sweat and she's pretty sure she's shaking, but Brittany doesn't seem to care. She just holds Santana tightly and says nothing about the locker, nothing about her fist, nothing about why Santana's upset. Brittany doesn't press for details and just accepts that in this moment, this is the way things are. No push, no pull._

 _"I didn't mean to scare you, B," Santana whispers, the words falling through Brittany's hair._

 _"We're friends now," Brittany murmurs again against Santana's neck, like that's all it takes. And maybe it is. Maybe it's enough._

\--

"You have to stop crying, babe. I can't have sex with someone when they're crying."

Santana laughs tearfully. "I'm not crying."

Brittany dusts her lips across Santana's cheeks, kissing away a streak of drying tears. "You're such a sap."

Santana reaches up and loosens the yellow ribbon holding her hair back. It slips away, and Brittany's hair rains down.

"We got married," Santana says, then laughs.

"I was there," Brittany teases with a bright smile.

Santana sifts a finger through Brittany's hair, then pushes a few stray strands behind her ear. "I love you."

"I love _you_ ," Brittany murmurs, leaning down to kiss Santana's neck.

Santana tightens her grip around Brittany's waist. "Today's been crazy."

Brittany lifts her head, and blonde hair tickles Santana's cheeks. Brittany smiles, a soft, reassuring smile that makes Santana's heart ache with the perfection of it all.

"What took us so long?" Santana mumbles, her hands traveling up Brittany's spine and finding the zipper along the back of her dress. "Why didn't we do this five years ago? Hell, ten years ago."

Brittany's nose nuzzles against Santana's jaw line. "Because we're in love."

Santana's laughter catches in her throat when Brittany slowly grinds her hips down against Santana's. "How does that make sense?" she asks breathlessly, toying with Brittany's zipper.

"The title didn't matter, Santana," Brittany explains, eye full and bright. "It's always just been about us."

Santana smiles, feeling fresh tears prickling at the back of her eyelids. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Brittany laughs quietly. "I wonder what everyone would say if they knew how much of a softie you really were."

Santana bites back a smile and fiddles with the zipper against Brittany's back. She tugs gently, and Brittany shivers as the zipper slides down her spine. Brittany shrugs out of her dress as Santana deftly unclasps her bra. Both pieces of clothing fall away, and Santana hikes Brittany higher up along her body. She lifts her head and wraps her lips around a nipple, smiling when Brittany moans and arches.

"San…"

Santana rolls her tongue around soft flesh, moving her hands down to stroke the bare thighs bracketing her hips. Brittany gasps and bends away far enough to pull her dress over her shoulders. Santana pushes herself up to a sitting position and peppers kisses across Brittany's bare chest.

"You're gorgeous," Santana murmurs.

Breath growing shallow, Brittany curves her palms around Santana's shoulders, fingertips brushing the straps of her dress. "You're more," she exhales, rocking her hips forward. Her hands grip Santana's biceps. "What are you doing still dressed?" she asks like she's just noticed.

"Waiting for my wife to undress me," Santana laughs, pressing a kiss to Brittany's collarbone.

A soft giggle leaves Brittany's throat, and she reaches around to unzip Santana's dress. It slides easily from her shoulders, and Brittany makes quick work of Santana's bra, then gives her a gentle nudge. "Lie down, babe."

Santana lifts her hips, and Brittany slides the dress down her legs. Santana kicks it away. Brittany hooks her thumbs around the waistband of Santana's girl briefs and gives a teasing tug. Brittany leans down, pressing the lengths of their naked bodies together, and Santana groans when Brittany's lips are suddenly against hers, tongue seeking entrance as their breaths mingle. Brittany's hand slips under the fabric of Santana's underwear as she nudges Santana's legs apart. Santana gasps against Brittany's mouth when she feels the pads of Brittany's fingers pressing circles around her clit.

Brittany smiles, slanting her lips down to leave a trail of kisses along Santana's jaw, her hand sliding lower until two fingertips dip inside. Immediately, Santana tenses, her breathing quickening as she bucks her hips, craving friction.

Brittany laughs and pulls her hand away, but before Santana manages to get a complaint out, they're kissing again, open-mouthed and needy, and Brittany somehow manages to tug Santana's underwear down her hips and thighs. Santana kicks it off the rest of the way, then spreads her palms over the curve of Brittany's ass, under her panties.

"Take it off," Santana grunts against Brittany's mouth.

Without breaking their kiss, Brittany tugs her own underwear down and tosses it aside. She slides a thigh between Santana's and pushes down, eliciting a low moan.

"Is that better?" Brittany murmurs.

"Yeah," Santana gasps, her hand reaching down across Brittany's abdomen and settling between her thighs. "You should always be naked."

Brittany doesn't get a chance to reply, because Santana thrusts two fingers inside her, thumb suddenly working hard around her clit, and Brittany writhes around for a moment before composing herself enough to nudge apart Santana's legs and graze her fingertips against slick heat.

"B," Santana groans, hips canting forward, "don't tease."

Brittany brushes a light kiss across Santana's lips. "I love you."

Santana's 'love you more' catches halfway, because Brittany buries two fingers deep, and Santana cries out as pleasure sears through her.

"Jesus Christ," Santana hisses. "That feels so fucking good."

Brittany smiles. "Are you going to start crying again?" she teases around a moan.

Santana laughs and pushes faster, feeling Brittany respond in kind, and she groans as the pressure builds between her thighs. The heel of Brittany's hand slides over Santana's clit, and Santana bucks her hips, desperate for release.

"Britt…"

"We got married," Brittany murmurs, her lips ghosting over Santana's.

"I was there," Santana quips, suddenly finding it hard to focus when Brittany's adds a third finger and picks up the pace.

Brittany drops a kiss to Santana's neck, her cheek, her lips. "You're my wife."

Santana grins. "And you are mine."

Brittany's free hand glides up the length of Santana's body, settling against the curve of her breast. She pinches a nipple between her fingers, and Santana's head rolls back as jolts of pleasure rocket through her.

Their lips meet in a slow kiss. There's an underlying urgency in the way Brittany's tongue explores, but mostly, it's quiet and sensual, even as their fingers work quickly and franticly. It's a kiss shared between two people who have known for a long time that this is where they'd be one day.

Santana comes quietly, body quaking under Brittany's weight, and it doesn't take Brittany long after that. They trade unrushed kisses long after their heartbeats have calmed, long after they've curled up against one another under the covers, legs loosely intertwined.

Santana falls asleep with the knowledge that she's made a commitment to the one woman – the _only_ woman – she wants to spend the rest of her life with.

She dreams of open fields, blond hair, and unadulterated joy.

\--

Santana's first conscious thought is that it's way too early to be woken up. Her second thought? That she's being awakened by her _wife_ for the very first time, and suddenly, it's not too early at all.

"Good morning," Brittany murmurs.

Santana opens one eye and smiles. "Morning, baby."

Brittany snuggles closer. "Hey, I'm gonna call my parents, okay?"

"Right now?" Santana scrunches up her face. "We're not telling them in person?"

Brittany smiles. "They live all the way on the other side of the city, and I can't wait that long. I want them to be the first to know, so I mean, just in case I accidentally spill today." She pauses thoughtfully. "I'll get them on Skype."

Santana pushes herself up on her elbow. "You're going to drag your parents out of bed at—" She glances at her bedside alarm clock. "—5 am and ask them to jump on Skype so you can tell them you got married?"

"Yeah," Brittany nods, "and my sister, if they can get her up too."

Santana leans down to press a kiss to Brittany's temple. "You're nuts, you know that?"

"You married me," Brittany points out unnecessarily, reaching up to cup Santana's cheek.

"I did." Santana smiles, affection rising in her chest. "Okay, let's do this. Actually, it's probably best that they can't reach across the computer screen and strangle me."

Brittany laughs. "Stop it. They adore you."

"I know they do," Santana replies, "but I also know they probably wanted to attend their daughter's wedding."

"We'll have one! Another one. Just… later." Brittany grins. "When have we ever done things properly, anyway? It's more fun this way."

Santana presses their noses together. "Okay, I'm ready. Go get them on Skype."

Brittany untangles herself from Santana and climbs out of bed. Santana watches her leave the room, then rolls over to occupy the space Brittany had just left. It's warm and comforting, and Santana shuts her eyes again.

Santana thinks about Brittany's family and how easily they'd accepted her. Even now, she sometimes wonders why.

Brittany returns a few moments later with her cell phone in her hand. She's naked, still, and Santana instinctively reaches out into the air toward her.

Brittany crawls back under the covers and kisses Santana's forehead. "Get dressed, babe. We're hopping on the computer in half an hour." Gently, she pulls Santana's hair away from her face. "What's wrong?"

Santana doesn't know why it still surprises her when Brittany reads her like an open book. "Nothing," she replies. "I'm just a little nervous about this."

"Santana."

"I'm about to be invited into your family," Santana explains, already feeling foolish for her own thoughts of inadequacy. She pushes on. "I mean, I know I've been treated like family for a long time, but this is—I'm about to get a mom and a dad. I don't remember the last time I had that. I don't think I ever really did, and—" Santana brushes her knuckles across Brittany's cheek. "It's not fair that you don't get anything like that from me."

"You love me," Brittany murmurs.

Immediately, "Yes."

Brittany shakes her head. "That wasn't a question. You love me, and I have your heart. That's all I want from you." She smiles brightly. "You didn't marry me for my parents, or my bratty little sister. At least I hope not."

Santana swallows thickly. "You're right. Sometimes I just need some perspective."

They hold each other for a few more minutes before Brittany tugs Santana up and makes her get dressed. After going through their morning routine – it's kind of funny how little things change sometimes – and wolfing down some breakfast, Brittany pulls out her laptop and sets up.

Santana takes Brittany's free hand and holds it in her lap.

Brittany kisses her softly. "Ready?"

Santana nods and watches as Brittany clicks call. A moment later, Brittany's parents smiling faces appear on their screen, and Brittany gives Santana's hand a squeeze.

"Hi Mom. Dad," Brittany greets.

Brittany's mother smiles. "Not that we're not glad to hear from you two," she says around a yawn, "but this is a mighty early wakeup call."

"Santana and I got married," Brittany blurts out, and Santana winces, bracing herself for impact, but Brittany isn't done. "Well, a domestic partnership, but we're calling it a marriage and the state of Nevada can't stop us."

"We're going to throw a real ceremony in a few weeks," Santana adds quickly, "and we're sorry we didn't tell you sooner. It all just happened really fast."

"I proposed last night," Brittany continues, "and she said yes."

"We were both sober," Santana appends, unsure why she's still talking. She kind of wants to punch herself in the face. "I mean, I have a big fight coming up, so I actually have to be sober all the time, but uh, Britt was sober too. This was a decision made in sobriety."

Brittany smiles. "And then we went out and got married!"

Brittany's parents are grinning at them. There's not even a hint of surprise across their features. Before either of them can say anything though, Brittany's sixteen-year-old sister Claire pops up on screen between the two adults.

"What's going on?" she mumbles sleepily. "Why am I awake at this ungodly hour?"

"Honey, your sister got married," the older woman explains.

Claire presses her face real close to the screen, suddenly looking a lot more awake. " _What?_ Seriously? You guys finally got your act together, huh?"

Brittany laughs. "Just congratulate us and move on, Claire."

Claire grins. "Moving on, moving on. How come we weren't invited to the wedding?"

"You are," Santana pipes up. "We're having another ceremony after my big bout in two weeks."

"We couldn't wait," Brittany explains. "Well, I couldn't wait."

Santana turns to Brittany and smiles at her. "Neither of us could."

"Hey, Santana," Claire calls out. "You'd better take good care of my big sis. 'Cause you might be good with your fists, but I will not hesitate to come after you if you hurt Britt." For a lanky girl barely pushing a hundred pounds, Claire actually manages to sound halfway menacing.

Brittany's father laughs and pulls Claire back. "That's no way to speak to your sister-in-law."

Santana's heart soars at the endearing term. Brittany's shoulder bumps affectionately against hers, and she smiles. This is the closest she's ever had to family. No, that's not true. Matt, Quinn, even Puck, they're family. But this... this is a different type of acceptance, a different kind of gift, a different sort of joy that Brittany is sharing with her.

"We're so happy for you," Brittany's mother tells them with a smile. She turns to her husband and they share a look. Somehow, Brittany's parents still manage to act like high school sweethearts, and Santana's never been more grateful for their presence in her life. Before she met Brittany, she'd never really been exposed to any healthy adult relationships.

Brittany's father is smiling too. "Congratulations, you two," he says warmly.

Conversation slides easily to other topics then – Santana's training, Brittany's teaching, Claire's schoolwork – and it's almost like Brittany and Santana's marriage is a foregone conclusion.

When Santana thinks about it, she decides that it really kind of is.

\--

Matt slides into the passenger's seat and immediately gives Santana a curious look.

"What's up with you?" he asks as he buckles himself in.

Santana doesn't even bother hiding her smile as she pulls into the street. "What?"

"You're grinning like a fool." Matt smirks at her. "Had a good night?"

Santana bites the inside of her cheek. "Something like that."

Matt laughs. "Told you; you should ditch more often."

Santana chuckles. "Yeah."

"Wait, did you just agree with something I said?" Matt's eyes widen in mock surprise. "The hell did Brittany do to you?"

Santana pretends to sour. "We had a lot of sex, all right? Jeez."

"Okay, okay," Matt laughs. "Damn, Scout, I ain't Puck. Other than that, night was good?"

"Yeah, took her out to dinner – got her a rose, like a champ – and then we just hung around, you know? Enjoyed the night. Enjoyed the city. Been so wrapped up in training lately…"

"You get to talk to her about—" Matt trails off and casts Santana a pointed glance.

The corner of Santana's lip twitches. "May have come up."

Matt looks at her incredulously. "And?"

Santana shrugs, even though the words are clawing at her throat. "Went over well."

Matt makes a discontented noise. "That's all you're gonna give me?"

"Matt, we're doing good." Santana smiles at the understatement. "I don't want to jinx it. Quit grilling me."

"All right, all right," Matt grouses, turning to look out the windshield. "You know I'm only leaving you alone 'cause I haven't seen you smile like that in ages, right?"

Santana tries to pull her lips into a snarl but fails miserably. "Yeah, whatever," she mutters instead, but it doesn't dampen her mood one bit.

The rest of the ride is spent in silence. Santana pulls up to the gym and parks in her usual spot, and they both leave the vehicle and grab their bags from the backseat. Santana locks up and throws her bag over her shoulder.

"Hey," Santana says as they're walking toward the front doors, "wanna grab lunch together tomorrow? Drag Quinn and Puck along?"

Matt grins. "Not sick of seeing us every day?"

"Been seeing you every day for over two decades, Matt," she laughs, nudging him on the arm with her shoulder. "The other two for almost as long. Would've ditched you a long time ago if I were sick of you."

"You know," Matt chuckles, "that's probably the sweetest thing you've ever said to me. You sure Brittany didn't spike your shake this morning?"

Santana smirks, stepping forward to push open the door. "Just enjoy it while it lasts."

Matt gives her a tiny shove as he follows her into the building. "Plan on doing just that."

Matt heads for the locker room, and Santana is barely past Artie's office door when a shrilly voice calls out to her.

"Lopez!"

Santana turns, and Quinn jogs up to her, fire in her eyes.

"Do I need to snap a leash on you or something?" Quinn asks through gritted teeth.

Santana holds out her hands defensively. "Relax. I was getting burned out anyway. Fuelled up last night and ready to go again."

"Heads up would've been nice," Quinn complains, hands finding her hips. "You know what being your manager means? It means I have to worry about you getting into shit all the time."

"I was with Britt the whole night," Santana argues. "You think she would've let me get into trouble?"

"It's _you_ , Santana," Quinn huffs. "Let's be honest here. Look, two weeks, all right? And then you do whatever you want. Within reason. You'd still have to get your workouts in and eat properly."

"Yes, mom," Santana returns with a cheeky grin.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Feels like it sometimes, you know that? I'm naming my first gray hair after you."

Santana smirks. "That's sweet." She lifts her chin. "You doing anything tomorrow around noon?"

"Why?" Quinn asks flatly. "You planning on skipping again?"

"No, hey, you think I want to get punched out 'cause I didn't train enough?" Santana shrugs her shoulders, trying for nonchalance. "Just thinking we should get lunch. You, me, Puck, Matt. How about it?"

Immediately, Quinn narrows her eyes. "What aren't you telling me, Santana?"

Santana exaggerates an eye-roll. "Why does everyone think I'm always up to something?"

Quinn's eyebrow quirks. "Uh, because you usually _are_."

Santana bites back a smile. "Whatever. You in or not?"

Quinn stares suspiciously at Santana for a moment, then nods. "Yeah, sure, if only to find out what destruction you're plotting."

"Whatever." Santana readjusts her bag against her shoulder. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," Quinn nods, "you might want to tone down what you post to your Twitter. I know I said to get your face out there, but you need to watch what you say."

"I have like, sixty thousand followers," Santana points out. "They obviously like what I have to say."

"Just don't piss off your sponsors," Quinn orders, crossing her arms over her chest. "Pass everything through Britt before submitting."

Santana smirks. "You do know that means all I can post about are butterflies and Hello Kitty? Look, Quinn, I got a good head on my shoulders. I know how to play the line."

"All right," Quinn replies even though she looks less than convinced. "Go see Puck, and try not to give him a hard time." She turns to leave.

"Hey, Q," Santana calls out.

Quinn stops and looks over her shoulder. "What?"

Santana grins. "Nothing. You look good today."

Quinn gapes at her. "Are you high?"

Santana laughs and pivots toward the locker rooms. "Not on anything that's going to disqualify me from the fight," she tosses over her shoulder.

After a quick detour to drop off her bag in her locker and wrap her hands, Santana approaches the ring.

"Lopez," Puck growls as soon as he notices her, running a hand through his mohawk. "Jesus Christ, I was fucking pissed when I couldn't find you and Rutherford yesterday."

Santana tugs at her glove straps to tighten them. "Lunch tomorrow, my treat. You in?"

Puck glares at her. "The fuck? Is this your idea of an apology?"

"Apology?" Santana scoffs. "No way. I'm not sorry I left. Had the best night of my life."

Puck's features ease into a sly grin. "You can't say that and not give details."

Santana rolls her eyes. "How many times am I gonna have to clarify that I'm not about to make me and Britt a feature in your spank bank? That's just sick."

Puck smirks as he pulls on a pair of padded gloves. "Worth a shot, right?"

"Telling you to knock it off certainly hasn't done me any good." Santana taps the side of Puck's head. "You in or not? I'm paying for your food and you're like a goddamn hungry hungry hippo."

Puck's grin widens. "Yeah, Lopez. I'm in. Now you ready to train or are you too busy thinking about pussy?"

Santana presses her gloved fist into Puck's cheek and bites back a smile. "Shut up."

\--

In the month leading up to her fights, it's rare for Santana to make it home before evening. In fact, some nights, she walks in so late that Brittany's already fast asleep, a pillow cuddled in her arms instead of Santana's body. It's not Santana's favorite thing about her occupation, but the sacrifices she makes are what has rocketed her to the top of the field. She knows Brittany understands that.

But today, she'd stripped off her gloves at five o'clock sharp, ignoring Puck's look of confusion, and announced that she was done for the day. That she had someone to go home to. Matt hadn't bothered questioning it, though he did keep casting questioning glances at her on their carpool home.

Santana finds Brittany in the kitchen with Mike, poring over what appears to be some sort of schedule.

Santana slips over to Brittany's side and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "Hey, babe." She tilts her head in acknowledgment at Mike.

"You're home early," Brittany murmurs.

"Yeah." Santana takes Brittany's hand in hers. "It kind of sucks that you're surprised though. I need to be around more."

"You're around plenty," Brittany reassures. She grins. "Like last night."

Santana smiles back. "Last night was pretty amazing."

Mike clears his throat. "Hey, I'll catch you guys tomorrow at lunch," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Brittany hops over to Mike and pulls him into a tight embrace. "I love you," she whispers. "Drive safely!"

Mike smiles. "Love you too, Britt. Have a good night, you two."

He gathers up the papers strewn across the kitchen table, stuffs them into a folder, and lets himself out.

Brittany immediately presses Santana against the nearest counter. "Hi."

"Hi," Santana laughs, her hands looping around to rest loosely against the small of Brittany's back.

Brittany kisses Santana, her lips heated and slow against Santana's mouth. It's quiet and intimate and _good_. Affection spills between them like sweet honey, and Santana's hands roam down to cup Brittany's behind. Brittany smiles into the kiss, a whimper escaping her throat as Santana's tongue dips past her lips.

They remain wrapped together for what feels like hours, kissing with the longevity of hormonal teenagers but with the soft familiarity of two people who have spent a decade in love.

Brittany's hands find Santana's hips, and with a grunt, she lifts her onto the counter. Their lips part momentarily, and Santana laughs, legs separating so Brittany can fit between them.

Brittany's lips brush against Santana's neck, down over her collarbone, and Santana tugs at the hem of Brittany's shirt, pulling it up enough to reveal toned abs.

"You trying to get me naked?" Brittany asks breathlessly.

Santana smirks, her ankles hooking around the backs of Brittany's legs. She lifts the shirt up and over Brittany's head. "Can you blame me?"

Brittany giggles and lifts herself to her toes to press a kiss to Santana's lips. Brittany's hands slide under Santana's top, her slender fingers spanning Santana's ribcage.

Santana's hand brushes Brittany's cheek to catch her attention. "How was your day?" she asks softly.

Brittany smiles. "I couldn't stop grinning through _Single Ladies_." She squirms free from Santana's legs and sways her hips from side, dancing to the music in her head.

Santana chuckles and hops off the counter. Brittany grabs Santana's waist and twirls her around, laughter in her eyes as she pulls Santana into a silent but familiar dance.

" _If you like it then you should've put a ring on it_ ," Brittany sings, eyes glimmering as she points dramatically to her fourth finger.

Santana pulls her close, clamping her hand down around Brittany's. "I did that." Her thumb brushes Brittany's ring finger, still very much bare. She grins sheepishly. "Or will really soon."

Brittany just laughs and twirls out of Santana's grasp again, body moving to the rhythm that pumps through her bloodstream.

And Santana can't help but follow Brittany's step.

\--

 _Brittany's hand is warm in Santana's as the two girls walk up the front steps of Matt's house. Santana stops on the porch and tugs Brittany toward her. Brittany spins, her still-lanky body nearly crashing into Santana. Brittany's fingers wrap around Santana's bicep to steady herself._

 _"Remember," Santana whispers. "Just because you sometimes kiss me, it doesn't mean we're dating."_

 _Brittany stares wide-eyed at her. "I know."_

 _"I'm serious, Brittany," Santana presses insistently. "Not a word about any of that to my friends."_

 _"I really like kissing you though," Brittany mutters under her breath as Santana reaches into her pockets for her keys._

 _Santana chooses to ignore Brittany's admission, despite the tug in her chest that screams at her to echo the sentiment. She unlocks and pushes open the door, nudging Brittany inside before following._

 _They find Puck sprawled out across Matt's couch, the back of his head resting on Quinn's lap as she rakes her fingers lightly through his mohawk. Brittany's eyes light up at the sight._

 _"Hey, quit working my gag reflex," Santana calls out to them, anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to the other as an unexpected rush of adrenaline surges through her. "There's someone I want you to meet."_

 _Her words ring lamely in her ears, but she instinctively squeezes Brittany's hand. Puck and Quinn have both turned to look at her, but she's not exactly sure how to proceed from there. Mercifully, Matt walks in from the kitchen holding a bag of chips and a tub of bean dip._

 _"Hey Scout," he greets, pinning the dip container under his arm as he wrestles with the chip bag. He tilts his head politely toward Brittany. "Scout's friend."_

 _Brittany leans closer. "Who's Scout?" she asks in a whisper._

 _"That's just what Matt calls me," Santana explains. "Don't worry about it."_

 _Brittany's shoulder brushes distractedly across Santana's. "I thought your name was Santana."_

 _"It is," Santana replies patiently. "Scout's this character in my favorite book. Matt started calling me that as a joke and it kind of stuck."_

 _"Will you read it to me one day?" Brittany asks with a shy smile. "The book?"_

 _Santana flushes, then nods quickly. "Yeah, okay." She turns to the others and clears her throat. "You guys, this is Brittany. Brittany; Matt, Quinn, Puck."_

 _Brittany raises her hand in a small wave. "Hi."_

 _"I've seen you around the gym lately," Matt says around a mouthful of chips. "Scout's been teaching you how to throw punches."_

 _Brittany nods. "Yeah. She's really good."_

 _"I'm the one who taught her everything," Puck says, smirking up at them. "Hey, Blondie, you got a boyfriend?"_

 _Quinn smacks him across the side of the head, and Puck rockets off her lap._

 _"The hell?" Puck glares at Quinn. "She's hot."_

 _Matt chuckles. "Ignore Puck. He thinks he's a badass."_

 _"I_ am _," Puck insists, flexing his arms to prove his point._

 _Quinn laughs affectionately. "You're an egghead."_

 _"We're about to pop in a movie," Matt announces as he plops down on an armchair. "Get Puck and Quinn to move their asses and make room for you on the couch."_

 _Puck grumbles something under his breath but slides along the couch until he's pressed up against Quinn. Fingers still laced together, Santana walks Brittany to the empty side of the couch and sits down. Brittany clamors onto her lap._

 _Three pairs of surprised eyes turn to stare at them._

 _"Mind your own business," Santana mutters, wrapping her arms around Brittany's waist as Brittany's head falls against her shoulder._

 _Matt laughs. "That's pretty impressive," he teases, reaching for the remote control. "Bring her around more often, Scout. She's performing miracles on your temper."_

 _Brittany beams, and Santana rolls her eyes, but then Brittany reaches up and brushes Santana's cheek with her knuckles, and Santana's lips bend into a small smile. They remain curled together until the end of the movie._

\--

Brittany and Santana spend a lazy Saturday morning making out under the covers like a pair of horny teenagers. Eleven o'clock rolls around, and they drag themselves out of bed and out the door to meet their friends for lunch.

Breadstix is unnaturally empty when Brittany pulls Santana inside ahead of Mike and Matt, who are deep in conversation about the validity of ninjas, and Puck and Quinn, who are explaining the complexities of grappling to a confused Tina.

All seven of them squeeze into a booth – Brittany, Santana and Puck on one side; Tina, Mike and Quinn on the other, with Matt pulling up a chair at the end of the table. It's a tight fit, and Santana feels like she might throw up, but her body feels warm and light, and when Brittany's hand curls around hers and squeezes, Santana nudges Brittany's shoulder with her own. Brittany's smile is shy and sweet.

Santana musters up every ounce of patience she has and waits until everyone's ordered their meals – not even bothering to do more than roll her eyes when Puck reminds her what she isn't allowed to eat – before clearing her throat and leaning forward against the table.

"Hey, guys, uh—"

Not her smoothest, as far as openers go. Santana wrings her hands anxiously, pulse suddenly racing. Brittany's hand snaps to Santana's wrist, and Santana smiles briefly at Brittany before turning her attention back to everyone else.

Santana exhales. "We have an announcement."

"No way," Matt breathes, a flicker of recognition flashing across his features.

Heat spreads across Santana's cheeks. "Matt," she laughs, affection sharp in her chest.

For the first time in a decade, Santana watches her brother tear up. "Fuck," Matt curses, blinking fiercely. "You went for it. Scout, you fucking _went_ for it."

Santana laughs again, feeling the anxiety flood away. "It wasn't even me…"

Puck looks back and forth between Matt and Santana. "This bromance is real cute, but is one of you going to clue the rest of us in?"

Across the table, Quinn's jaw is wide open. "Santana, I—" She turns to Brittany. "You—"

Brittany beams and leans her body against Santana's. "Yeah."

Finally, Puck catches on and jumps out of his seat. "Oh shit!" he cries out, his sudden outburst eliciting a few displeased glares from other patrons. He clutches his head in disbelief. "No fucking way!"

Mike and Tina, for their part, remain unnaturally calm. They're wearing matching grins, but they don't look the least bit surprised. Either they share some creepy Asian psychic powers, or—

"You told," Santana says, whipping around to face Brittany. There is no accusation in her voice, only amusement.

Guilt floods Brittany's eyes anyway. "I'm sorry."

Santana drapes an arm around Brittany's waist. "It's okay. Honestly, I almost spilled to these fools about fifty times."

"I—" Quinn opens and closes her mouth a few times, then turns to Mike, seated next to her. She nudges him playfully. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Mike smiles warmly and shrugs his shoulders. "Britt told me to keep it a secret."

Puck slides back into his seat next to Santana. "I can't believe this. Feels like just yesterday you were bringing B to meet us and pretending like you didn't have the biggest gay crush on her."

"I didn't!" Santana protests. "Not yet, anyway."

"River in Egypt, babe," Puck replies with a smirk. "You were drowning in it."

Santana gives Puck a playful shove. "I swam out, so whatever."

Brittany brushes a kiss to Santana's cheek to pacify her.

"I don't understand," Quinn pipes up, still looking a little pale. "When did this even _happen_?"

"Day before yesterday," Brittany replies fondly.

Quinn's jaw drops open. "And—which one of you got down on one knee?"

"Neither," Brittany answers, sliding an open palm against Santana's thigh. "But I asked, and Santana said yes."

"Should've made it official a long time ago," Santana adds, casting a quick glance at Matt.

Quinn shakes her head. "You know I love both of you dearly, but you're impossible. Do you have a date? Because I'm going to have to work your fights around the wedding."

"You haven't even heard the best part," Mike butts in, lightly nudging Quinn with his shoulder.

Quinn's eyes snap back to Brittany and Santana. "Now what?"

Brittany's foot hooks around Santana's under the table, and she smiles sheepishly. "We already had a wedding…"

Quinn's palms press against the surface of the table. "Wait, wait, wait, _what_?"

"Dude," Puck cuts in, "you didn't even give us a chance to throw you a bachelor party." He slumps in his seat and folds his arms over his chest when Santana glares at him. "Bachelorette party, whatever. An excuse for strippers should always be taken advantage of, is what I'm saying."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Keep it in your pants, Puck. We're having another ceremony and you're all invited."

"Does that mean we get to throw you a bachelorette party?" Puck asks hopefully, eyeing Matt.

"Sure," Santana replies. "But no strippers," she adds quickly, smirking at the way Puck's face falls. "Just take me out for drinks. I'd rather get a lap dance from Brittany."

"I can do that!" Brittany offers eagerly, and everyone laughs.

Just like that, any lingering tension dissipates. Puck and Matt high-five each other, and Quinn smiles and leans against Mike. Tina and Brittany start singing Bruno Mars's _Marry You_ , complete with impromptu dancing in their seats.

Santana looks around the table and smiles. She fights with rapid-fire strikes and suffocating grapples, but what she fights _for_ is these people.

Santana Lopez fights for her family.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

The locker room is silent except for the sound of Puck meticulously wrapping a roll of tape around Santana's hand.

"You ready?" Puck asks, bringing a pair of scissors down to snip away at the bandages.

Santana nods and flexes her fingers. "You ask me this before every fight like the answer's ever going to change."

Puck grins. "That's my girl."

Santana swings her feet idly over the edge of the table atop which she's seated, tapping her left fist rhythmically against Puck's shoulder as Puck works on her right. "St. James is gonna wish she'd never been born when I'm through with her."

"Stay on your feet and you'll be fine," Puck instructs, using his thumbs to fit the tape into place. "Her ground game is strong, so you don't want to give her that upper hand. Be patient. Don't worry about the knockout. Just wear her down. She's not known for—"

"Puck," Santana interrupts, knocking a light punch to his chest. "I got this."

Puck's smile widens, and he pats the padding lining her knuckles. "You got this."

Santana takes a deep breath and glances at the door of the locker room. "Can you, ah—can you get Brittany?"

"'Course," Puck replies, pivoting toward the exit. "Hey," he tosses over his shoulder, "I'm happy for you two. You know that, right?"

Santana bites back a grin. "Yup, sure do."

Puck reaches the locker room door and pulls it open, then makes a motion to someone on the other side. Brittany slips in, and Puck shoots a quick salute in her direction on his way out. Brittany smiles tightly and approaches Santana, carefully sliding between Santana's legs, hands finding her hips and holding on.

"Hi," Santana says softly, hooking her ankles around the backs of Brittany's knees, drawing her closer.

Brittany's hands slide to the small of Santana's back. "Be careful."

It's the same thing she says before every fight, in that quiet, serious voice that breaks Santana's heart a little. But Brittany's words aren't meant to send Santana on a guilt trip; they're spoken out of genuine concern. Santana leans forward until their foreheads are touching, and she inhales. Her wrapped hands rest gently against Brittany's sides, and in that moment, alone with Brittany, Santana feels secure, grounded.

"I will," she promises.

Brittany smiles, pressing a kiss to Santana's cheek. "Get out there and kick some ass."

\--

 _Santana rolls on the balls of her feet as she watches Matt and Puck on the mat with their trainer, taking turns swinging their small but strong fists against padded gloves, ducking and dodging and kicking their way through precise, practiced motions that at times made the two boys appear larger and more imposing than their small frames would suggest._

 _It's Puck's turn, and Matt stands to the side as Puck's gloved fists rocket against his trainer's padded palms. The strip of dark hair atop his head is drenched through, the sweat dripping down his forehead as he tosses his weight into his punches._

 _From outside the ring, six-year-old Santana looks down at her own hands, tiny and fragile, and clenches them into tight fists. She releases a couple punches, testing the feeling of slicing her hands through open air. There's a rush she can't explain, and as she watches Matt and Puck exchange places on the mat, she's never wanted more to be one of them._

 _Matt and Puck had begun taking kickboxing lessons a few months ago, but it's Santana's first time at the gym. She bounces on her feet, eager to play more than the role of spectator._

 _When the training session comes to an end, Santana races over to the trainer, ignoring Matt's call on the way._

 _She looks up at the man. "Can you teach me?" she asks hopefully._

 _The trainer pats her on the head and smiles. "I'm sorry, we don't train girls."_

 _Santana's heart drops. "But—"_

 _"And you're too young, anyway," the trainer continues, nudging her by the shoulder. "Run along now. You shouldn't be in here."_

 _Holding back tears, Santana keeps her head high as she pads across the room to where Matt and Puck are standing. Chin quivering, she doesn't say anything until Matt locks her into a sweaty hug._

 _"It's not fair!" Santana wails. "I wanna fight too."_

 _"I know," Matt says, smoothing his hand over her hair. "Maybe when you're older, okay?"_

 _Puck tugs his gloves off and eyes the other two. "Suck it up."_

 _Matt glares at him. "Watch your mouth, Puck."_

 _"I'll teach her," Puck says, shrugging his shoulders._

 _Santana sniffs against Matt's chest and peers at Puck._

 _"Yeah," Puck continues, grabbing Santana by the hand. "C'mon, we'll get you fitted for some gloves."_

 _Eager to busy her fists, Santana squirms out of Matt's grip and follows Puck to one of the equipment managers, who is nice enough to find her a pair of ratty old gloves that are small enough to wrap around her tiny hands._

 _Matt watches warily as Puck leads Santana to the center of the mat and instructs her to throw some punches against his own gloved fists. Santana steadies her feet and attempts to mimic what she'd seen earlier. Puck stays still for the first few hits, then abruptly sidesteps out of the way. Santana stumbles forward, nearly face-planting._

 _As soon as she regains her footing, Santana shoves Puck. "What'd you do that for?"_

 _Puck jabs her lightly with his right glove. "Stay alert. Keep up."_

 _Santana lifts her fists in front of her face with renewed determination._

 _Matt approaches and hovers protectively over Santana. "Take it easy," he tells Puck._

 _"I can do this, Matt," Santana insists._

 _Matt taps her on the shoulder. "I know you can. But if Puck forgets you're a girl and punches you too hard, you're gonna get hurt."_

 _Santana darts her eyes quickly toward Matt before returning her focus to Puck's raised fists. "I want him to forget I'm a girl."_

 _Matt furrows his brows, but Puck appears to understand. He extends an arm to ruffle her hair, but she dodges out of his reach and lands a punch on his chest. Puck stumbles back momentarily, and Santana smirks, feeling a surge of pride. Santana's fist rockets forward again, but her next attempt catches nothing but Puck's glove. Puck punches back, and the impact volleys Santana's tiny body backwards, landing her on the mat._

 _Immediately, she bounces back up, but Matt steps between them. "Enough. Give me the gloves, Puck." When Puck doesn't budge, Matt rolls his eyes. "You want to teach her, right? Then get behind her and teach. I'll be the punching bag."_

 _Puck seems to consider this for a moment, then tugs off his gloves and chucks them at Matt. Puck slides behind Santana and hovers over her, reaching to readjust her fists in front of her face._

 _"Like this," he instructs. "Now punch. Aim for Matt's left glove."_

 _Santana musters up a burst of energy and throws her fist. It lands ineffectively against Matt's glove._

 _"That's it," Puck encourages. "Go left, left, right!"_

 _Santana anchors her feet and raises her fists._

 _It's fast and tough and knocks the wind right out of her. Santana falls in love._

\--

" _Ladies and gentlemen, now making her way to the cage, please welcome women's MMA ground expert Jessica 'the Jostler' St. James!_ "

From behind her entrance, Santana takes a deep breath as she hears the crowd roaring for her opponent. Over the years, she's learned to manage her adrenaline, to use the noises of the stadium to her advantage, to control the cage rather than let it control her, but despite her fearlessness, nerves still reign strong.

" _And now joining us to the red corner, her challenger, Muay Thai sensation Santana 'Lights Out' Lopez!_ "

With one look up at the ceiling, she bounces out through the doors and starts makes her way down to the cage, squinting against the pyrotechnics and bright lights. The crowd erupts into hysterics.

She's stopped in front of the cage entrance and patted down, her gloves examined. The moment she steps into the cage, a cutman with a goofy grin – Finn something, she recalls; Puck's friend – stops her and applies petroleum jelly to her forehead and cheeks. He slips her a discreet thumbs up when he's done.

Puck appears at her side and holds up her mouth guard. She lets him slide it into her mouth. Santana walks over to her corner, focus sharp. The noise around her drones on, but she's tuned only into the rhythmic beat of her heart as she bounces lightly in place and swings her arms. She watches St. James, leaning against the opposite corner as her trainer, a tall brunette with a strong jaw line, feeds her last-minute instructions through the chain-linked fence.

St. James's curly hair is tied back in a small ponytail, her eyes menacing as it scours the cage. She has the look of a villain, of a heartbreaker, and Santana feels her own jaw tightening around her mouth guard.

Everyone else begins clearing out of the cage as the announcer introduces the judges, then each of the fighters, and finally the referee.

"All right, ladies," the referee says to them as he motions for the two of them to get closer, "this is three three-minute rounds. You know the rules. We all expect a good, clean, fair fight. Obey my commands. Protect yourselves at all times. Come out ready to fight. Good luck, and hook 'em up."

Santana waits for the horn to sound, then approaches the center of the ring, where she taps fists with St. James. A burst of adrenaline rushes through her as she studies her opponent, sizing her up. Puck's made her watch the tapes and pointed out St. James's strengths and weaknesses, but there's nothing quite like standing in a closed cage with another person who not only has the ability to knock a bitch the fuck out, but is actively encouraged to do so.

Santana tests the waters with quick swing of her leg, which St. James sidesteps. A few cautious blows are exchanged harmlessly as both fighters attempt to catch the other off guard. After Santana lands a kick to St. James's thigh, St. James rushes forward without warning and grabs Santana's torso in an effort to throw her to the ground.

 _Stay on your feet_ , Puck's voice reminds her.

Santana tightens her core and plants her feet. She knows that if this fight came down to sheer strength alone, she'd be a goner. St. James is a damn behemoth. But Santana is confident in her technical skills, her precision and timing. She waits it out, trying to spend as little energy as possible as St. James struggles against her.

Despite taking a knee to the hip, Santana manages to fight her way out of St. James's grip and remain standing. She swings her left fist and lands a decent punch to the side of St. James's face, knocking her back.

St. James retaliates with a fist of her own, which Santana parries. Santana goes in for a flurry of punches and kicks, balancing her offensive with careful positioning. But even in her calculated movements, she takes a couple blows to the head and staggers. The adrenaline pushes her through. She's familiar with discipline and willpower, and she can see the frustration building in her opponent with every moment she refuses to give in. Fights are as much a battle of mental wits as they are a competition of physical strength.

Right before the first round ends, Santana lands a well-timed left hook, which gets the crowd roaring into the intermission.

The horn sounds to signal the end of the first, and the referee separates the two fighters. Santana heads to her corner and bounces once against the fence. Puck appears in front of her with a bottle of water.

"You got this," Puck tells her. "She's worn out, but you know what they say about wounded dogs. Be careful. See an opening, go for the kill."

Santana nods and motions at the water bottle, which Puck then raises to her lips. She drinks up and wipes her mouth on her forearm. Puck holds up his fist, and Santana bumps her knuckles against his.

"Go get 'em."

Santana taps Puck on the shoulder in acknowledgement, and he clears out of the cage as the timer runs down and the second round is set to begin.

From the sound of the horn, St. James comes on strong, arms and legs swinging wildly. Santana tastes the desperation emanating from her opponent, relishes in her helplessness. She remains patient.

St. James grabs her again, a frantic takedown attempt. She kicks the back of Santana's knee and manages to bring her to the ground, but Santana wraps St. James in a headlock and ends up on top, her weight pressing down on St. James's torso as she struggles to maintain control.

Santana pins St. James down, biding her time, letting the other fighter tire herself out with strikes that do little damage from her position of vulnerability. But Santana gets caught in her own arrogance, and in a moment of carelessness, St. James's knee connects with her abdomen, and she manages to break free. Both fighters clamor to their feet.

St. James sways, almost imperceptibly, but Santana detects the first hint of instability and pounces, stepping forward with aggression. She throws a punch with her right and follows quickly with her left, the second catching the side of St. James's head and knocking her flat to the ground. The crowd thunders.

St. James is slow to stand, but she manages. A trickle of blood rolls from a gash on her forehead, directly above her eye. She wipes clumsily at the blood with the back of her glove, but more spills from her wound, dripping into her eye socket and obstructing her vision.

Santana lunges forward, but the ref steps in and calls an injury time out. A ring doctor enters the cage and begins to examine St. James's cut. When an entire minute has passed and he hasn't been able to stop the bleeding, the doctor shakes his head at the referee, who nods in acknowledgment.

The crowd buzzes as the realization settles in: technical knockout due to an injury preventing St. James from finishing the fight.

Despite having imagined a more glamorous end to the fight, pride immediately surges through Santana, and she raises her arms in victory against the backdrop of thousands of cheering fans. She hears her own heart pounding hard in her chest, and time seems to slow down around her. Fighters will say that it's not about the purse or even the belt. It's about the feeling of invincibility, of pride, of knowing that they're tougher, faster, more fearless than their opponent.

Puck rushes in to congratulate Santana on her victory. He hugs her tightly, exactly like a trainer who's witnessed firsthand the hard work that goes into the preparation for every fight would.

"You did it!" he yells over the noisy crowd. "You fucking did it!"

Santana laughs. _We_ , she wants to correct him, but before she gets a chance, the referee is motioning her back.

The first thing she notices is that St. James does _not_ look happy. Her cut has mostly stopped bleeding, but the drying blood around it only makes her look more menacing. Still, it's all the more satisfying when the referee pronounces Santana the winner and raises her hand high above her head, the crowd's relentless excitement serving as the soundtrack to the action movie that has become her life.

\--

It's nearly three a.m. by the time Brittany and Santana make it home, and the moment Santana collapses into bed, she sighs appreciatively against the soft covers. Brittany climbs in after her and curls up behind her, carefully draping her arm over Santana's hip.

"You were amazing out there," she murmurs, pressing her lips against Santana's shoulder.

Brittany's hand slips under the hem of Santana's top, and Santana shuts her eyes momentarily as Brittany's fingers gently trace the bruises across her skin. Despite Brittany's soft touches, it's a ritual she doesn't particularly enjoy, if only because Brittany gets too quiet, her body tensing when Santana squirms in discomfort.

"Does it hurt?" she asks, like she always does.

"No," Santana fibs, reaching down to grab Brittany's wrist and gently tugging it away. She shifts, turning to face Brittany. "Babe, I'm fine." She brushes her lips lightly against Brittany's. "I love you," she whispers. "I know my fights aren't your favorite."

"Yeah, but you love what you do. I would never take that away from you."

Santana touches Brittany's cheek. "I would give it up if you asked."

"I know," Brittany replies with a faint smile, "but I wouldn't ask."

Santana pulls Brittany's closer, trying to ignore the way her tender flesh aches upon contact. The adrenaline's worn off, and she's sore everywhere. "Britt, you are my favorite wife."

Brittany scrunches up her nose, stifling her own laughter. "Do you have a cucumber I don't know about?"

"Concubine," Santana corrects gently, threading her fingers through Brittany's hair.

Brittany rests her hand on Santana's hip. "Yeah, that." She smiles. "Are you hiding something from me?"

"Never," Santana replies softly, leaning in to plant a kiss on Brittany's nose. The question feels weightier than it actually is. "Never ever ever. No secrets, ever. Okay?"

Brittany stifles a yawn, her eyelids fluttering. "Okay."

"Hey," Santana whispers, touching Brittany's jaw. "Now that the fight's over… wedding prep."

Brittany beams, immediately awake again. "Wedding prep," she echoes.

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and Santana grins. "We'll drop by Mike and Quinn's this weekend. Q's gonna want to get her managerial paws in there."

Brittany presses a kiss to Santana's mouth. "I'm so proud of you," she murmurs against her lips. "You know that, right?"

Santana takes a deep, shaky breath. "Yeah, I know."

A slow smile spreads across Brittany's lips, her expression shifting to one of seriousness. "I don't like it when you get hurt, but every time I watch you fight, it's like you're transformed."

Santana curls an arm around Brittany's torso. "There's only one thing I love more than fighting," she says, peppering kisses to Brittany's neck and shoulder.

Brittany's eyes light up. "Yeah?"

Smiling against Brittany's skin, Santana lets out a short laugh. "Yeah, sex."

Brittany giggles. "You're such a romantic."

Santana pushes herself up onto her elbow, her hair cascading over her shoulder as she looks down at Brittany. Her heart squeezes at the sight. "The only thing I love more than fighting is you," she clarifies, her eyes meeting Brittany's. "I don't care about the sex."

Brittany pats her lightly on the cheek. "You're gonna regret saying that in the morning."

Santana shakes her head, suddenly adamant that Brittany understands the magnitude of what she's saying. "Brittany…"

"Silly," Brittany cuts in gently, her fingers finding the nape of Santana's neck and rubbing circles. She smiles reassuringly. "I know."

Santana lies back down and winces against the lingering pain. Brittany's limbs carefully curl around her, and they settle into comfortable sleeping positions. With the satisfaction of her win earlier and the comfort of her wife next to her, it doesn't take long for Santana's overexerted body to succumb to dreamless slumber.

\--

 _"You think you're a big shot, don't you? Just 'cause your daddy's pictures are everywhere?"_

 _Santana turns and catches sight of a small group of students that has gathered. Someone she can't see lets out a nasally shriek._

 _"Let_ go _of me!"_

 _"Why?" a third voice sneers. "You don't get to come in here with your rich girl clothes and rich girl shoes and rich girl attitude. You think you're better than us or something?"_

 _Santana nudges her way through the crowd, trying to get a better look at the commotion. Even at seven, she's strong for her tiny frame, unafraid to toss her body around. She makes it to the center and finds two fourth-graders hovering over a thin blond girl she has never seen._

 _"Hey," Santana calls out, "what's going on?"_

 _"New girl thinks she's better than us," one of the fourth-graders, a redhead with droopy eyes, explains._

 _The blonde huffs, one hand reaching down to smooth out her dress while the other readjusts her headband. "I do not!"_

 _"You sure do!" the other, a hefty-looking dark-skinned girl, cries, stepping closer with menace. "Your last name's Fabray, isn't it? I'm sick of seeing your dad's dumb face all over the place. He's ugly as hell, just like you."_

 _Santana marches up and steps in front of the blonde. "You're such dumbasses," she tells the two fourth-graders. "That means her dad's a poli-a politician. They want you to go vote for them and stuff."_

 _Redhead takes a step forward. "What'd you just call us?"_

 _"I said you're dumbasses," Santana repeats unflinchingly. "You don't even know what a politician is? Idiot."_

 _Hefty lunges forward, hands aimed at Santana's neck, and Santana immediately reacts, her own arms flinging out to grab and deflect Hefty's hands. Redhead jumps in, grabbing a fistful of Santana's hair. Santana grunts as her head gets pulled to the side, but she whips out a hand and jabs Redhead in the face. Redhead cries out and recoils in pain, releasing Santana. In the momentary distraction, Hefty lands one against Santana's cheek, and Santana immediately tastes the metallic tang of blood in her mouth._

 _She manages to duck away from Hefty's next punch, then fires one right back, catching Hefty in the eye. Hefty stumbles back, but Santana isn't done. She kicks out against Hefty's knee as she gives Hefty a rough shove. Hefty falls backwards, landing on her elbows on the pavement. Santana doesn't hesitate to throw herself down and fire a series of well-aimed punches to Hefty's face. Hefty is screaming and crying, and blood is starting to stream from her nose and upper lip, but Santana doesn't stop until a teacher grabs her from behind and drags her off the other girl._

 _Redhead has a scratch across her cheek and is looking so pale she's nearly transparent. The blonde is frozen in place, her hands clasped tightly over her mouth. The crowd has fallen deathly silent. A second teacher rushes over to Hefty and starts tending to her wounds._

 _All Santana sees is red as she thrashes against strong arms, blood boiling with the insatiable need to inflict pain. The next thing she knows, she's sitting inside Principal Figgins' office, next to the blonde whose name she still doesn't know._

 _Figgins glares at them from the other side of his desk. "Girls, which one of you would like to share what happened?"_

 _The blonde stares down at her lap, scuffing her shoes against the floor._

 _Santana opens her mouth to speak, but a searing pain shoots through the left side of her face and she winces. Fresh blood escapes from the cut on the inside of her cheek._

 _"Would you like some ice, Santana?" Figgins offers._

 _Santana lowers her eyes and shakes her head._

 _The blonde peers over at Santana, then looks back at Figgins. "San-Santana was just trying to stop those, um, those bullies. They were going to hurt me."_

 _Figgins is staring at Santana. "Is that true, Santana?"_

 _Santana shrugs and keeps her mouth shut._

 _Figgins sighs. "Quinn, you can go back to class. Miss Lopez, I'm afraid I'm going to have to call your parents."_

 _The blonde, apparently named Quinn, doesn't move. "Principal Figgins," she says, sounding a lot more sure than before, "Santana didn't do anything wrong."_

 _"Didn't do anything wrong? She broke Tammy Brown's nose!"_

 _"She had it coming," Santana mumbles, teeth scraping painfully against her swollen cheek._

 _"That's enough, Santana," Figgins scolds with as much authority as he can muster._

 _"But Tammy and her friend," Quinn starts, "they grabbed me, and—" She holds out her arms, revealing purple bruises against her pale skin. "My dad's not gonna be happy about this," she continues, her tiny voice taking on a threatening edge, "especially if you punish the only girl who stood up for me."_

 _Figgins seems to consider this angle. "Miss Fabray, your father is a very powerful figure in this community, and I would hate to—"_

 _"Let Santana go," Quinn insists, "and I won't tell my dad about this."_

 _"But I'm sure Santana's parents will want answers about her cheek…"_

 _"They don't care," Santana interrupts, and despite her age, she knows as much as Figgins does that what she says is true. She's been in enough fights, has sat in this office enough times for both of them to understand this point._

 _Figgins looks back and forth between the two girls. Finally, he seems to relent. "Very well," he agrees, sounding resigned to his fate. "Both of you may go. But Santana, please make a visit to the nurse before returning to class."_

 _Santana rises from her seat and leaves the office, sensing Quinn following a few steps behind her._

 _"Thanks," Quinn says when they're out of the office._

 _"Yeah," Santana mutters, trying not to wince even though her mouth_ hurts _. "What's a girl like you doing in a school like this anyway?"_

 _Quinn shrugs. "My dad says it looks good for him. I dunno."_

 _Santana studies her for a moment. "Why didn't you hit them back?"_

 _Quinn shrugs again, her slender shoulders rising and falling with grace. "My mom says girls shouldn't fight."_

 _"That's dumb," Santana dismisses. "My brother, he fights. He teaches me how sometimes. Not too much though. He doesn't want me getting into trouble."_

 _Quinn giggles. "That didn't work too well."_

 _Santana smiles through her pain. "I saved your butt, Quinn."_

 _Quinn smiles back. "I know, and I got you out of trouble."_

 _"Wouldn't be in trouble in the first place if I didn't have to save your butt," Santana argues._

 _Quinn looks at Santana, her expression turning serious. "You punched that girl really, really hard, Santana," she says somberly._

 _Santana shrugs and looks down. "She deserved it."_

\--

The sound of Quinn Fabray's doorbell is crisp, and Santana jabs her finger impatiently against it a few more times than necessary. Beside her, Brittany squeezes her hand, but before Brittany has a chance to reprimand her, the door swings open. Mike Chang is standing on the other side, and Brittany immediately launches herself against him, her arms wrapping around his neck.

Mike laughs. "Hey, Britt. Santana."

"Hey," Santana greets, "is Quinn around?"

"Yeah, come on in."

Mike steps aside and waits for both women to enter before shutting the door behind them. He leads them to the living room, where Quinn is kneeling on the floor, hovering over an array of papers strewn across the coffee table. As soon as she catches sight of the others, she rises to her feet.

"Lopez! So how's it feel to be a world champ?"

"How's it feel to collect a fat paycheck for being my personal assistant?" Santana fires back with a grin.

Quinn rolls her eyes. " _Manager_ ," she's quick to amend, "and you're a bitch."

Santana mockingly gasps. "Stop the presses! Quinn Fabray's got some serious scoop."

"Almost wish St. James had knocked you out last night," Quinn tells her, though her words hold little menace.

Santana nudges Quinn's shoulder. "You totally don't mean that."

Quinn pulls her lips into a straight line. "Mostly I just wish that you didn't open your mouth as often as you do now."

Santana smirks. "Just keepin' it real."

"All right, anyway," Quinn says, awkwardly detouring the conversation, "I'll help you plan your wedding, but – and I know you believe otherwise – I'm not your bitch."

Santana snorts. "As if you could give up an opportunity to run my life."

Quinn flushes. "Oh god, Lopez, I'm not that big a control freak. I'm not like, _addicted_ to managing your life; you just can't seem to do it yourself."

"That's offensive."

Quinn opens her mouth to retort but quickly shuts it again, smiling a little to herself.

Santana laughs. "You were going to say 'your face is offensive' just now, weren't you?"

Quinn's smile cracks. "Was not," she denies halfheartedly.

"You totally fucking were!" Santana whoops. "That's real mature, Fabray."

Clearing her throat, Quinn waves her hand dismissively. "Can we move on? I have something for you." She glances at Brittany. "For both of you, actually. Consider it an early wedding gift. Or late, since you ran off and got hitched already."

Quinn moves toward her fireplace and lifts a photo frame off her mantle. Pinned underneath is an envelope, which she picks up and hands to Santana.

Santana flips it over in her hand, catching the letters 'B&S' in Quinn's loopy handwriting on the front. "Q, what is this?"

Quinn smiles and shrugs. "Open it."

Santana holds the envelope out to Brittany, who lifts the flap and pulls out a card. It's a simple congratulatory card, but tucked inside, they find two roundtrip tickets to Fiji, along with a week-long itinerary covering everything from tourist attractions to a different restaurant every night. The personal handiwork of someone who excels at organization.

"My dad left me a cottage in Fiji," Quinn explains. "It's right near the water, really gorgeous view, and it's yours for that week. Everything on there has been paid for, but of course, you're free to deviate."

Brittany leaps toward Quinn, enveloping her in a tight embrace, but Santana stays rooted to her feet, unsure what to do with the sudden burst of affection she feels for her best friend.

"Quinn… these are—" Santana hesitates. "This is expensive."

Quinn quirks a smile. "Do you know how much money you made me by winning that fight last night?"

"You bought these tickets before that," Santana argues, shaking her head. "You couldn't have known that I'd kick St. James's ass."

Quinn chuckles. "I was kidding. This isn't about the fight. It's for both of you. Take some time off. Consider it a honeymoon."

Santana skims over the tickets again. "These are dated next Friday."

"I'm your manager, Santana. You've got nothing going on." Quinn turns to Brittany, whose arms are still wrapped around her torso. "And Britt's her own boss. I'm sure she can get someone to cover her classes for a couple days."

Brittany beams. "Totally. Tina loves my kids."

Santana bites her lip. "I can pay for my own honeymoon."

"I know you can."

Brittany laughs. "Santana."

"Fine, fine." Santana approaches the two women and holds back a smile. "Thanks, Q."

Brittany pulls her into a three-way hug, and a moment later, Mike, who'd remained silent until then, joins in. Brittany's laughter, lively and genuine, sounds like a melody to Santana's ears.

\--

"We should be packing," Brittany murmurs lazily, rolling over in bed and snuggling onto Santana's pillow.

"We should be fucking," Santana returns playfully.

Brittany pops one eye open and gently slaps Santana's arm. "Language," she reprimands.

Santana laughs. "Since when do you care about my potty mouth?"

"Since I decided that you were going to be the mother of my babies," Brittany answers with startling sincerity. She smiles, a little shyly. "Kids pick that stuff up really quickly."

Santana rolls to her side and props herself up on her elbow. She presses a kiss to the crown of Brittany's head, a billion thoughts and images coursing through her, flashes of tiny babies, giggling toddlers, rosy-cheeked little humans who laugh and cry and _feel_ just as she does. Santana's maternal instincts have never been particularly strong, but as she watches Brittany pressed against her, drifting in and out of sleep, she knows that raising a family together is something that she wants.

Santana's hand seeks out Brittany's under the covers. "What do you want our rings to say? Do you want anything engraved?"

"Yeah, but I haven't figured out what yet. Name and date is boring," Brittany muses. "Something simple, like... _proudly so_."

"Proudly so," Santana echoes, testing the words. She smiles. "Proudly. So. I like that."

"Yeah, me too," Brittany murmurs.

Santana's smile widens as she circles Brittany's knuckles with her thumb. Until she met Brittany, she'd never really understood how she could love someone so much that her heart felt like it was bursting at the seams all the time. But she lives that reality every day when she sees this girl: blond hair splayed across the pillow, or body hovering over a lesson plan, or dancing, always dancing to the music in her head. And for that, Santana considers herself the luckiest.

"I'm getting a tattoo," she says suddenly, dropping a kiss to Brittany's cheek.

Brittany's eyelids flutter. "What? Okay."

"The wedding band," Santana explains, lying back down and pulling her arms out from under the covers. "I can't wear it when I train, which is a lot of the time, and I don't want to ever be without it, so I'm getting it inked to my body." She twists her left hand and slides the fingers of the other across the inside of her wrist. "Right here."

Brittany reaches up and touches Santana's wrist. "I want one too."

Santana turns her head. "You don't have to do that."

"No, let's—forget the rings. It'd be such a hassle for you. We can get them later on." Brittany flexes her hand, studying the skin of her wrist. "Tattoos are pretty permanent though."

"Having doubts?" Santana asks lightly.

"No way," Brittany answers, eyes wide. "Just making sure you know that it means you're stuck with me forever."

"As long as you know that _you're_ stuck with _me_ , Santana counters with a short laugh. "I'd be a little more concerned about that."

Brittany leans forward and peppers a flurry of kisses to Santana's face. "Would I have proposed to you if I hadn't planned on forever?"

It's a rhetorical question, but Santana answers with a quiet 'no' anyway as she pulls Brittany closer, their bodies fitting easily against one another as they have been doing for years and years, and with any luck, as they will continue doing for a long time. Maybe even forever.

\--

 _"Santana!"_

 _Santana's head whips back, and she nearly crashes her bicycle into a lamppost. Brittany runs over, followed by two Asians who appear to be her friends, and Santana scrambles off her bike and attempts to look presentable._

 _"I didn't mean to startle you," Brittany says, reaching out to offer Santana a steady hand._

 _"It's fine," Santana quickly dismisses. "I'm fine." She looks past Brittany at the other two. "Who're they?"_

 _"Oh!" Brittany smiles. "This is my best friend, Mike."_

 _The lanky boy steps closer and extends his hand. "Hey."_

 _"Hey," Santana echoes, awkwardly gripping Mike's hand._

 _Brittany points to the shorter girl standing next to Mike. "And this is Tina."_

 _Santana shakes Tina's hand as well, feeling out of place. Her chest swells with an odd desperation to impress Brittany's friends, putting her at unease. She tightens her grip on the handlebars of her bike._

 _"We're headed to the pool," Brittany tells her, readjusting the bag slung over her shoulder. "Wanna come with?"_

 _It's a sweltering day, the kind perfect for cooling down in the water, but Santana, for all her strong limbs and athletic build, isn't a great swimmer. The idea of being dragged out of the pool by a lifeguard while Brittany and her best friends are watching suddenly doesn't seem so appealing. But before Santana has a chance to pass, Brittany pulls off her shirt and stuffs it into her bag, revealing toned abs and a navy blue bikini top. Santana flushes inexplicably._

 _"I'd love to," Santana's mouth blurts out before her brain can stop it. "I just gotta get my bathing suit."_

 _"Great! We'll wait right here."_

 _Santana nods and jumps on her bike, peddling home as quickly as her legs will take her. Matt is out shooting hoops when Santana throws her bike in the driveway and rushes inside. She tosses her bikini and a change of clothes into her bag and runs back out._

 _"Who's after you this time, Scout?" Matt calls out as he takes a jumpshot._

 _Santana pulls her bike upright. "Going swimming."_

 _Matt grins. "Is that what they call flailing around in a wading pool these days?"_

 _"Fuck you," Santana grumbles, climbing onto her bike. "I can swim."_

 _"Yeah, sure," Matt laughs. "Stick to the kiddie pool."_

 _Santana flips him off and pedals away._

 _As promised, Brittany, Mike, and Tina are exactly where she'd left them, except Brittany has taken to doing backflips on the sidewalk. As Santana approaches, she slows her bike to a stop and hops off. After securing her bike to a telephone pole, she walks over and joins Mike and Tina. A moment later, Brittany lands a flip right in front of Santana, who instinctively reaches out to steady her._

 _"Ready to go?" Brittany asks, her hand slipping into Santana's._

 _Santana nods, feeling her own hand clam up and hoping that Brittany doesn't notice. It's the little things sometimes that makes Santana feel like she's tripping over herself. Brittany's gentle marks of affection, her bright smile, her quirky logic. It's a lot of things, Santana realizes reluctantly. It's something about the way Brittany looks at her and acts around her that has Santana agreeing to drop everything just to spend more time with her, even if it's an activity she herself completely dreads._

 _But they're not_ dating _or anything, she reminds herself. That'd be stupid, anyway. Santana suddenly becomes frustratingly aware of her own bitter disappointment._

 _Brittany doesn't say much on the walk to the local pool, which is for the best since Santana's lost in her own thoughts, but she never lets go of her hand. Santana fights the urge to grab it tighter to ground her from the thoughts running rampant in her head. Thankfully for Santana, their arrival at the pool beats the conclusion she refuses to acknowledge._

 _After everyone's changed and locked away their stuff, they head outside. With a head start, Mike and Brittany cannonball into the water and begin chasing each other around the pool, contorting around other pool-goers. Santana takes a seat at the edge of the water and dips her feet inside. To Santana's surprise, Tina sits down next to her and watches her friends horsing around in the pool._

 _"You like her," Tina says softly, a hint of resignation lacing her words._

 _Santana flushes. "Of course I like her," she deflects. "Find me one person who doesn't like Brittany."_

 _Tina smiles, mostly to herself. "You know what I mean. You_ like _her."_

 _"I don't," Santana insists. "I teach her to fight, that's all. And in case you missed it, she's a_ girl _. I don't like her."_

 _"Well, I do." Tina says it so quietly that Santana almost doesn't hear her over the noise of the outdoor pool._

 _"You—_ what? _"_

 _Tina shrugs. "If you blab, I'll just deny it, but yeah."_

 _Santana's eyes flit back to Brittany for a moment. "Why are you telling me this?"_

 _"Because she talks about you all the time. At first, I just thought she was excited about making a new friend, but then... she likes you too. Trust me."_

 _Santana wants to tell Tina that trust is earned, not requested, but the little flutter at the pit of her stomach at Tina's words is strangely exhilarating. She wonders how that conclusion had been reached but doesn't want to give her hand away, so she says nothing and feigns interest in the other swimmers._

 _"I just want her to be happy," Tina says. "I don't know you, but the way she talks about you..." Tina breathes a sigh. "Pretty sure I'm friend zoned, anyway," she mumbles before diving into the water and swimming away._

 _Santana watches the shadow of Tina's body join Mike and Brittany, and after a moment, Brittany turns, eyes searching. Santana looks for a way out, but it's too late. Brittany spots her, smiles brightly, and starts paddling toward her._

 _Brittany reaches the edge and grabs hold of Santana's ankle. "Jump in! Come on, it's a swimming pool, not a sitting pool."_

 _"I just—" Santana looks around. The water is shallow, she knows, but she doesn't want to chance it. Santana tells a lot of lies, but she can't find it in her to deceive Brittany, so she leans closer and mumbles, "I can't really swim all that well."_

 _Brittany's eyes flicker, and she laughs, her hands circling Santana's ankles, tugging gently. "I'll show you. It's easy."_

 _Santana's cheeks grow hot as she kicks lightly against Brittany's grip. After a moment of hesitation, Santana inhales deeply and slides off the edge. In the water, Brittany's hands glide to Santana's hips, fingers curling to her lower back. Santana's breath catches in her throat as she leans back against the side of the pool, her legs weak underneath her._

 _Brittany giggles softly, her body floating closer and pressing against Santana's. "I really wanna kiss you right now," she whispers, eyelids fluttering as glances at Santana's lips._

 _Santana's mouth goes dry, her body tense as she tries to respond._ Yes _, she wants to say, despite them being in public, despite Brittany being a girl, fuck everything._ Yes yes yes please. _But words are suddenly difficult, and she makes a small guttural noise that she's sure isn't too sexy. Her head tilts into a short nod._

 _Brittany's body shifts, her face hovering inches from Santana's. "Yeah?"_

 _"Yeah," Santana croaks out. Her eyes squeeze shut, her hands balling into fists at her sides in anticipation._

 _Brittany's lips brush Santana's once, tenderly, and before she can even respond, the pressure's gone. Their bodies are still pressed together when Santana reopens her eyes, thankful for the water that hides her pathetically trembling hands._

 _Brittany licks her lips. "Again?"_

 _Aware that they're drawing attention, Santana shakes her head. "Not here. Later, okay?"_

 _Brittany smiles. "Okay."_

\--

Santana runs into Tina on a grocery run.

The two have never been particularly close, but they've run in the same circles since they were teenagers. Sometimes Santana wonders if she'd built up irrational animosity toward Tina for what she'd admitted to her all those years ago when they'd first met. Tina never ended up pursuing Brittany, but Santana has never been notorious for her ability to share Brittany's affections, so a quiet distance has always persisted between the two women.

Santana trusts Brittany, but she doesn't really _know_ Tina, and in her world, that's as good as a potential adversary. It's just the way she operates: those few she keeps close to her heart, she loves fiercely and unconditionally, but everyone else, she handles with extreme caution. In the ring, that mentality makes her a champion. Out of it, however, it sometimes hinders her relationships. Not that it bothers her. She has everything she needs.

With Tina, it's always been a quick acknowledgement before both head their separate ways. Santana might mention it to Brittany over dinner later, but other than that, Tina Cohen-Chang is someone Santana keeps at an arm's length distance. It doesn't help that Tina's got history with Artie, and Santana's loyalty to her gym automatically aligns her with Team Abrams, though she remains neutral where that's concerned, mostly for Brittany's sake.

"Never got a chance to congratulate you." Tina is smiling kindly at her, the type of bright smile Santana finds often on Brittany's face. "So... congrats."

"Thanks." Santana's left wrist instinctively twitches. Though there's nothing there yet, she can almost feel the burn of permanence etched into her skin. "Hey, listen." She takes a breath and looks around. "I'm sorry about the way I treat you sometimes."

"You haven't treated me poorly, Santana," Tina replies, a hint of surprise coloring her features. "Did Brittany put you up to this?"

"No," Santana laughs, "but I guess it just never occurred to me that if Brittany considers you family, then you're mine as well." Her expression softens. "Officially."

Tina's smile widens. "I appreciate that."

"Yeah, so... we're good?"

"We're good," Tina answers. She sways slightly on the balls of her feet. "About Artie..."

Santana stops her. "You don't have to explain, Tina. I'm not taking sides."

Tina bites her lip. "I didn't leave him because of the accident."

Santana softens. "I know. I believe you."

"This is incredibly selfish of me," Tina says, momentarily looking down at her feet, "but I've tried to keep my distance because of how closely you work with Artie. I haven't seen him since the breakup, and—"

"You've been broken up for like, a year," Santana cuts in.

"Almost two." Tina's eyes flicker sadly. "But time isn't really a great measure of affection, is it?"

Santana acknowledges the honesty in that statement with a small nod. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

"No, no." Tina offers a faint smile. "Thanks." She glances at her watch. "Listen, Santana, I've gotta run. The bank closes at three, and I still have to pick up the dry cleaning..."

"Sure, no problem. See you around, Tina."

"Take care of Brittany," Tina calls out over her shoulder as she leaves.

Santana almost laughs, because it's the one thing she doesn't have to be asked.

\--

"Are you sure you don't want any strippers? Because there are places that I can call. They'd be here by the time you got here."

Santana rolls her eyes and pins her phone between her ear and shoulder as she attempts to dress herself. "Yes, Puck, I'm positive. No strippers. Quinn's gonna be there too, remember?"

"Aw, you worried about Q?" There's some shuffling at the other end of the line. "You know she likes T&A just as much as you do."

Santana sighs. "This is going to sound crazy to you because you can't keep it in your fucking pants, but I'm only into one girl's T&A. You know that."

Puck laughs. "Like, you know that the point of a bachelorette party is to let a bunch of really hot chicks rub their junk all over you before you have to commit to one for the rest of your life, right?"

"Technically," Santana fires back as she struggles to pull on a pair of pants, "I'm already married, and I've made it the past ten years without the need for any extracurricular activities, so I think I'll be okay."

"This sucks," Puck complains.

Santana grabs her phone and laughs as she moves it to her other ear. "This is ridiculous. It's not your bachelorette party, Puck. It's mine. When yours comes around, I'll rent out the entire strip club."

"Fine," Puck finally relents. Santana hears the distant sound of a doorbell through the phone. "Get your ass over here, Lopez. I think that's Rutherford."

"Be there in twenty," Santana says before hanging up.

She's digging around in the drawers for a shirt when she hears Brittany enter the bedroom. Long arms wrap around her body from behind, and Santana spins around to greet Brittany with a kiss.

"I wouldn't have minded, you know," Brittany murmurs against Santana's lips. "Would've been hot."

Santana pulls her closer. "I only want you."

Brittany smiles. "You're such a charmer."

"I'm lucky it works on you." Santana presses another kiss to Brittany's lips, then a third. "Going out tonight?"

"Yeah, with Tina and some girls from work. Might be out the whole night."

Santana nods. "Same here. Have a good time, B."

"You too," Brittany replies, punctuating her words with a kiss.

Releasing Santana, Brittany twirls out of the room. Santana finishes dressing, applies some light makeup, and heads out the door, calling a quick goodbye to Brittany on her way out.

The drive to Puck's is familiar, and Santana beats the traffic to make it there in fifteen. Puck and Matt greet her with hugs that are brimming with pride, though neither would admit to getting emotional over something that's _about damn time_. Mike and Quinn join them a few minutes later, and the five of them squeeze into Matt's car.

Matt takes them to a club on the Strip, and they're ushered into a private room in the back. Artie is already there, balancing on the back wheels of his wheelchair. He brofists each person as they enter. Matt orders the first round of drinks, and chatter breaks out among them.

Despite Quinn's reminders to drink in moderation, Santana gets totally shitfaced. Having to watch what she puts in her mouth all the time fucking sucks, and it's her goddamn bachelorette party. She'll drink whatever the hell she wants.

"I love you guys!" Santana announces at one point, her words slurring. "I love you so much. Almost as much as I love Brittany, and I married that girl, so I mean, I really fucking love all of you."

Her head's spinning and she's practically weeping hysterically, but Puck laughs and drunkenly pulls her onto his lap. She rests her cheek against his collarbone, eyes drifting shut when Puck fumbles his fingers through her hair. It's soothing and soft and so _not_ Puck that Santana breaks out into tears.

"I love you," she murmurs once she's calmed down, and she means it. "Even if you're a giant dick."

Puck grins. "You want my giant dick."

"You're disgusting," Santana mutters, and if it'd been anybody else, she would've knocked them out cold, but with Puck, she gets him.

Puck's breath hovers around her ear. "I'm so proud of you, Lopez. You and Britt—just like, fucking love her forever and shit."

Santana lifts her head from his shoulder and kisses him lightly on the cheek. She feels surprisingly sober when she whispers, "Thanks, Puck."

"Yeah."

She stays there for a while, silently enjoying Puck's company and attention until Matt wrestles her away to play a botched version of _Never Have I Ever_. She learns way more about Mike and Quinn's sex life than she ever, ever wants to, and it's only small solace that she probably won't remember any of it by morning.

At the end of the night, Matt, who is too drunk to drive but not nearly as drunk as Santana, escorts her back to his place and tucks her into his bed. When he turns to leave his own bedroom, Santana grabs his wrist.

"Sorry for taking your bed," she manages to say. "You can sleep here. I won't hog all the sheets."

Matt leans down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. "I'm good. You're a married woman now, Scout. 'Night."

Santana shuts her eyes, feeling the room tilt slightly. "'Night, Matt. Thank you."

\--

 _Santana breathes hard. "What are we doing?"_

 _Brittany, in her unconventional approach to everything, attempts to answer. "Your hand is in my shirt, and I think—_ oh _, okay, keep doing that."_

 _"This is kind of—"_ Gay _, she wants to say, but Brittany's hand fumbles its way into her pants and the word catches in her throat._

 _Santana doesn't know what it means, and she stops trying to figure it out when Brittany's mouth is on hers again, strong and steady and_ sure _. Santana barely remembers how they'd even gotten here, because she's pretty sure that five minutes ago, they'd been lying in Matt's hammock together, cloud watching on a lazy Sunday afternoon. But then Brittany had flipped over and straddled Santana's thigh, laughter in her eyes, and Santana had just_ reacted _._

 _Brittany's skin his flushed, and her breath comes out shallow. She's watching Santana's every movement, eyes bright with anticipation. Santana shudders under Brittany's weight, hips bucking instinctively and shamelessly against Brittany's wandering hand._

 _It feels good, better than anyone else she's been with, but the exposure suddenly makes Santana nervous, and she shoves Brittany's hand away._

 _"We can't do that, Britt."_

 _Brittany frowns a little, but then rolls over onto her back and stares up at the sky, her chest rising and falling quickly as she tries to catch her breath. "Okay."_

 _"Maybe when we're alone, but not out here," Santana continues, fighting the urge to grab Brittany and forget about everything else. She hates that if Brittany were a boy, she wouldn't think twice. She hates that she cares._

 _"Okay," Brittany repeats without looking at her. She licks her lips, squeezes her eyes shut in a way that makes Santana's heart ache. "I gotta go."_

 _Santana swallows hard. She knows she should apologize, but she's never been great at those, so she nods and watches Brittany roll off the hammock. Brittany smiles faintly, a little sadly, shoves her hands into her pockets, then turns and leaves without another word._

 _The moment Brittany's out of earshot, Santana buries her face in her hands and lets out a silent scream of frustration. She doesn't know what she's feeling, but she knows that it'd been overwhelming and nothing like what she's ever experienced. There'd been a flicker of attraction that had been stoked to—shit, she doesn't even_ know _._

 _Santana shuts her eyes and replays the memory of Brittany pressing into her over and over._

\--

"Nervous?"

Brittany shakes her head but looks around the tattoo parlor anxiously. "You?"

Santana grabs Brittany's hand. "Nah. This chick's good. She's the one who did my cross."

Brittany's hand flutters to the small of Santana's back, her fingertips barely brushing the fabric there. "Did it hurt?"

"Not really, but Britt." Santana lets out a laugh. "I get into fistfights for a living. My pain threshold isn't exactly average."

Concern clouds Brittany's eyes. "So it might hurt?"

Pulling Brittany closer, Santana waits to catch her eye before speaking. "Brittany, you don't have to do this. Seriously, you can just wear the ring." Her hand slips over Brittany's bare fingers. "Actually, you don't even have to wear the ring. It's just a symbol anyway."

"I'm not afraid of pain, Santana." Brittany looks down at her hand, twisting it until her wrist is exposed. "I love you, and we agreed to do this."

Santana lifts Brittany's hand and presses a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. "I know, but I hate seeing you hurting."

"Will you hold my hand?"

"Of course."

Brittany smiles. "Then I'll be okay."

So she does. Santana hold Brittany's left hand while her right wrist gets prepped, and when the needle makes contact with her skin for the first time, Brittany winces and grips Santana's hand harder, but relaxes a moment later when Santana hums a soft tune and brushes her fingers through Brittany's hair.

The actual process doesn't take long because the lettering itself is small and the artist is efficient. Brittany, being a dancer, has a decent pain tolerance herself, so the process itself ends without incident. Santana goes next, and she smiles at Brittany the entire time like she's never been happier.

"You okay?" Santana asks, eying Brittany's bandaged wrist.

"It's a little tender," Brittany replies, "but it wasn't bad at all."

"Okay, good." Santana leans back, head tilting to the ceiling. "You know, if this doesn't work out—" She swallows hard, almost unable to finish that thought. "—you could always say it stands for something else. Maybe that you're proud to like girls in a world that doesn't want you to."

Brittany's hand brushes Santana's cheek, turning her until their eyes meet. "Why would you even say something like that?" she asks, mouth curling into a tiny frown.

It's not insecurity, Santana wants to explain. It's not fear, either. She knows, ultimately, that the two of them can work through anything, that they wouldn't have made it this far without having learned how to love each other and live with each other and do both while navigating a scary world.

But Santana values Brittany, values her freedom and her right to fall out of love as easily as she'd fallen in. Rings can be removed, and vows - sadly - are permanent only by definition. For as long as they've known each other, Santana has understood that Brittany is a wild spirit, untethered, and in Santana's heart, she'll always hold some guilt for being the one to take that away from her, to rope her down. Santana doesn't know how to explain it to her.

"Hey." Brittany walks her fingertips over Santana's forearm to catch her attention. "Are you doing that thing where you're thinking too much again?"

Santana laughs softly. "Yeah, kinda."

Brittany laces their fingers together. "Quit it."

"Okay," Santana acquiesces.

She watches the tattoo artist finish up, and then takes a good look at it before a small bandage gets slapped on. She turns and kisses Brittany, and her wrist burns as though something invisible is tugging at it. Brittany smiles brightly as she pulls away, and Santana forgets about her worries or any guilt she might harbor.

This is Brittany, the girl she's been crazy about since she was fucking fourteen, and she silently promises to spend every waking moment of her life trying to keep that smile on Brittany's face.

\--

 _"Hey, Q, you ever kissed a girl?"_

 _Quinn sprays her soft drink through her mouth and nostrils and it goes _everywhere_. She coughs dramatically and pinches her nose as fizzing liquid drips down her chin._

"Damn it _, Santana. Time your questions better next time. And no, of course not."_

 _Santana shrugs and hands Quinn a napkin. "Just wondering," she mutters._

 _Quinn wipes at her face and glares. "Why, have_ you _?"_

 _Santana's silence is enough of an answer for Quinn, and she gasps and perks up, looking a little too eager for details._

 _"No way. Who'd you kiss?"_

 _"This girl—" Santana grins a little. "This chick I met at the gym."_

 _"Well?" Quinn prompts when Santana doesn't offer details. "What was it like?"_

 _"It was like—I don't know." She shrugs. "It was okay."_

 _Quinn pops a French fry into her mouth and chews delicately. "It was… okay?"_

 _"No, I don't know, whatever." Santana flushes. "It doesn't matter. Puck's always going on about eating pussy. I just wanted to know what the big deal was." Santana's eyes widen. " _Not_ that I ate pussy. It was just like, kissing, all right? Shit, Quinn, shut your mouth and eat your damn burger."_

Quinn quirks an eyebrow at her, but she actually lets it go. Santana watches Quinn munch away at her lunch for a few minutes, and she has the decency to wait for Quinn to swallow before speaking this time.

"You ever… want _to kiss a girl?"_

 _Quinn coughs. "What's up with you today?"_

 _"Just answer the fucking question," Santana grumbles._

 _"I—what, are you_ offering _?"_

 _"No! Gross. No, god. I'm just curious, okay? I'm not into making out with you. That's like, practically incest." She stares down at her burger, suddenly not hungry anymore._

 _Quinn frowns. "What happened, Santana?"_

 _Santana takes a deep breath. "The girl I met at the gym said—"_

 _"What's her name?" Quinn cuts in._

 _"Brittany." She smiles a little._

 _Quinn grins. "You like her?"_

 _"No way," Santana replies, flushing._

 _"But... you made out with her."_

 _"No, I—I don't know." Santana flusters. "Maybe."_

 _Quinn leans closer, confusion across her features. "So you_ didn't _make out with her?"_

 _"No, it wasn't like—never mind, forget it." She reaches for Quinn's fries. "Are you going to finish that?"_

 _"Santana, holy shit," Quinn hisses, swatting Santana's hand away from her fries. "Did you or did you not make out with this Brittany figure who you met at the gym?"_

 _Santana winces. "I think I like girls," she blurts out, taking a quick glance around the empty diner. "Maybe just her, I don't know."_

 _Quinn's eyes widen momentarily. "You _what_?"_

Santana's always been well aware of Quinn's family's religious stance on everything under the sun, but to hear the disapproval directly from Quinn's lips... that stings, more than Santana would ever admit. She lowers her head, angry with herself for the way she feels, angry with Quinn for her reaction, angry with Brittany and her stupid blue eyes. Santana blinks back tears as she stares blankly at her lunch.

"I'm sorry," Quinn quickly apologizes, reaching out a hand and stopping halfway. If she notices Santana crying, she doesn't mention it. "You know that's cool with me, right?" she adds quietly.

"Whatever," Santana grumbles. "I shouldn't have said shit."

Quinn sighs. "Santana, I didn't mean it like that. I—me too."

Santana's eyes snap up. "What?"

Quinn laughs softly. "Me too, Santana."

Santana swallows hard. "Fuck you, this isn't a joke."

"I'm not joking," Quinn replies calmly, wringing a napkin in her hands. "I didn't know how to tell you. I've been thinking about it a lot, and I'm attracted to girls, but I don't know, I like boys too."

"So like, does that mean you're bi?"

Quinn looks down. "I guess. I don't know."

"Shit, Q," Santana mutters, "your dad's going to kill you."

Sadness blurs Quinn's eyes. "I know."

\--

"Wow, this place is gorgeous," Brittany marvels, staring up at the small bure that would be their home for the next three days.

"Q wasn't kidding when she said we'd be ten steps from the ocean."

Santana dumps her suitcase near the front entrance and sets out to explore the cabin. Brittany follows close behind. There's a small kitchenette stocked with food that'll last them their stay, a den-like area with wicker furniture that appears slightly uncomfortable but will probably be appreciated in the heat. Finally, the bedroom houses a king-sized bed with a canopy overhead, and Santana waggles her eyebrows suggestively at Brittany on their way to check out the bathroom.

Brittany rolls her eyes. "You're shameless."

"I'm just saying," Santana shrugs. "Those sheets look nice. I think we might need a new bedspread at home soon. That's all."

Brittany giggles. "Right."

Santana laughs. "Yeah, I'm totally hitting on you. Is it working?"

Brittany responds by pressing her lips against Santana's for a soft kiss. She laces their fingers together, and after a quick look at the bathroom, they head outside. A hammock stretches between two banana trees, and nearby, gorgeous red hisbiscus bloom. The sound of gentle waves crashing into the shore serves as a gentle backdrop. The Fijian sun burns down sharply, and it's hot and humid, but not uncomfortably so.

Brittany kicks off her shoes and runs halfway down the beach, motioning for Santana to follow. Santana leans down and plucks an orchid before racing Brittany to the edge of the water.

"Hey."

Brittany turns around and smiles affectionately. "Hi."

Santana twirls the flower in her hand for a moment before stepping forward and tucking the stem behind Brittany's ear.

"You aren't supposed to pick any!" Brittany scolds, but she's still smiling as she tries to take a peek at the ornament.

"Too bad," Santana replies, pulling Brittany closer. "It looks pretty on you."

" _You_ would look prettier on me," Brittany suggests, eyelashes batting.

Santana laughs. "Who's hitting on who now?"

Brittany turns toward the ocean, squinting into the horizon. "Are we going to be one of those lovey-dovey married couples who can't keep their hands off each other?"

"Babe," Santana says, thoroughly amused, "that was us way before we decided to get hitched."

"The world is so big," Brittany muses. "How did we find each other?"

"Well," Santana laughs, almost in disbelief of the journey they've taken to get here. "You found me and dragged me along until I realized you weren't really pulling and I was still moving."

The corners of Brittany's lips twitch, and she watches the waves for a moment, then, "Do you believe in soul mates?"

"No," Santana replies, a little more firmly than she means to.

"No?"

Santana shrugs. "Believing in soul mates makes people lazy. If it's predestined, why even bother trying? You gotta—I don't know, _fight_ for everything you want."

"Being soul mates is not a guarantee," Brittany explains. "It's just knowing that there's one person who understands you better than anyone else, and who can learn to love you no matter what. What you do with that is up to you."

Santana takes Brittany's hand in hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. "You're my person."

Brittany leans in and presses a kiss to Santana's cheek. "I know." And even though it's been years and years, and Santana doesn't really need the reassurance, Brittany nudges Santana's wrist and smiles. "And you are mine."

\--

 _"You can come in, you know." Brittany squints against the blinding sun. "It's a dance studio, not a leper colony."_

 _Santana pushes herself off the railing that she'd been leaning against. "Yeah, well..." She motions at her attire and the duffel bag at her feet. "Fresh from the gym."_

 _Brittany blinks. "What's that got to do with anything?"_

 _"Nothing, I just—" Santana looks down and takes a deep breath. "Brittany. Can we talk?"_

 _"I'm not going to be your secret friend, Santana," Brittany says, her words kind but firm._

 _Santana shuts her eyes to stave off tears. "I know. That's not why I'm—" She takes a breath. "I really like kissing you, Britt," she admits quietly._

 _Brittany steps closer. "Me too."_

 _"You're a girl, and it's confusing, but it just feels_ right _." Santana kicks nervously at her duffel bag. "Fuck it. Be my girlfriend."_

 _Brittany's features shift slowly from confusion to delight. "Really?"_

 _"Yeah, really." Santana smiles a little, feeling her own heartbeat pounding hard. "You want to?"_

 _"Yeah, totally."_

 _"Okay." Santana laughs, reaching out to grab Brittany's hand and pull her closer. "Okay, I—okay."_

 _Brittany leans in, and her lips are suddenly against Santana's, kissing her. Santana reacts, hands curving over Brittany's hips as she feels hot pleasure undulate through her body at the contact. Brittany pulls away first and smiles._

 _"Can you promise me one thing?" Brittany blinks, eyes searching. "Will you talk to me when something's bothering you? And always be honest with me?"_

 _Santana grins. "Yeah, Britt, I can totally do that. I promise."_

\--

On the fourth night of their vacation, after a day spent lounging on the beach and making out under the shade of palm trees like a pair of hormonal teenagers, Santana finds herself curled up in the hammock next to Brittany. The night air is quiet, warm, and the stars are brighter than any she remembers seeing back home.

Santana's palm glides up Brittany's bare hip, fingertips stretching to cover as much skin as she can reach. Brittany nuzzles her face against Santana's neck and laughs softly; Santana doesn't think she'll ever tire of the sound. Santana shifts, turning until her hand is pressed against Brittany's abdomen, and Brittany smiles into dark skin.

Santana doesn't even realize what she's saying until the words are out of her mouth. "One day, a little blond girl who looks just like you is going to walk this earth, and I'm going to love her as much as I love you."

Brittany lifts her head, eyes bright and optimistic. "When?"

"This is—" Santana laughs nervously, fearing she's revealed too much. "This is a big talk, Britt."

"Yeah, but..." Brittany's shoulders lift and fall in a shrug. "We're going to have to talk about it someday, right?"

"You're right. Okay." She turns to face Brittany. "So how do we want to do this?"

"One of us gets pregnant," Brittany explains, hinting obviousness, "and nine months later..."

Santana laughs. "I know. I mean, _how_? And... who?"

"I'll carry," Brittany offers immediately.

Santana bites her lip. "You'd have to give up dancing."

"Just for a little while." Brittany shifts, gently rocking the hammock. "I'd probably only need a few weeks off near the end when I get too big to run around with the kids."

Santana anchors herself against the edge of the hammock and rolls over, straddling Brittany's thigh. "Are you sure?"

"It's a baby, Santana," Brittany says softly, blinking from behind her eyelashes. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Leaning down to dot kisses along Brittany's jaw, Santana smiles. "You are amazing."

"We could always adopt a little Asian girl instead," Brittany muses after a moment.

But Santana knows that neither of them are naïve enough to believe that they'd be successful at international adoption, where regulations are tougher and same-sex parents don't stand a chance. Brittany smiles sadly, as though the realization suddenly dawns on her.

"Maybe," Santana says slyly, squeezing her thighs together and loving the way Brittany's body momentarily tightens under hers. "Maybe if I try hard enough, I'll get you pregnant."

Brittany laughs. "Santana."

But Santana is already playing with Brittany's bikini top. "No harm in trying."

Brittany's back arches to Santana's touch. "No harm in trying," she agrees.

Santana slips out of her own bikini top and tugs her shorts down, kicking them away. Brittany quickly does the same. It's difficult to gain any leverage on the hammock, but Santana holds herself up and takes a moment to admire Brittany's body under the glow of moonlight. She leans closer, pressing kisses down the column of Brittany's neck as her hand travels south, over the plane of Brittany's abdomen, down to the apex of Brittany's thighs. Her fingertips rest against Brittany's clit for a moment before lightly pinching, and Brittany gasps, hands gripping Santana's shoulders as she squirms against the friction.

Santana moves lower, finds moisture, and dips the tips of two fingers inside. Brittany bucks her hips, moans when Santana sinks deeper and starts thrusting, her thumb drawing circles around Brittany's clit.

"Faster," Brittany manages to gasp, eyelids fluttering as she throws her head back.

Santana complies, adding a third finger and picking up the pace. She slides her body lower, her lips closing around a nipple. Her other hand finds Brittany's, and their fingers interlock, palms pressed together. Santana brings their hands up to rest beside Brittany's head, and the tattoos inked on their wrists touch.

Brittany smiles. "Santana?"

"Mhm?" Santana murmurs, twirling her tongue. Her fingers work quickly between Brittany's thighs, twisting and curling as they thrust in and out.

Brittany's breathing quickens until she's panting, hips jerking to meet Santana's hand. "Kiss me."

Pushing herself higher, Santana leaves a trail of kisses over the top of Brittany's breast, across her collarbone, up the length of her neck, and finally, their lips meet in a slow, open-mouthed kiss. Santana bucks her hips, rocking the hammock as her core rubs against Brittany's thigh, and she lets out a moan at the friction.

Brittany's free hand dances over the muscles across Santana's shoulder blades, down until it settles at the small of her back. Small sighs of pleasure escape Brittany's lips as Santana's hand works furiously, and Santana can feel her own body tightening. She bucks her hips again.

" _Oh_ ," Brittany murmurs against Santana's mouth.

Santana presses her thumb against Brittany's clit and strokes deep, and Brittany comes undone, grip tightening around Santana's hand as her body trembles. Without giving Brittany a chance to adjust, Santana slides herself down until her head is between Brittany's legs, and then she's sucking at Brittany's clit, tongue darting out to taste her. Brittany's hand tangles in Santana's hair as she lifts her hips, pushing for more, and Santana complies, moving faster to help Brittany ride out her orgasm. The feel of Brittany squirming under her, desperate and open, and the very thought that _she's_ the one to get her there, to turn her on and make her moan, sends a jolt of pleasure to the pit of Santana's stomach.

When Brittany's limbs finally go slack, Santana crawls up the length of Brittany's body and settles down against Brittany's neck, fingertips drawing lazy shapes across Brittany's side.

Brittany kisses the crown of her head before awkwardly turning them over so that she's on top. Her right hand finds Santana's left, her thumb tracing the letters on Santana's wrist. She reaches the the L in 'proudly' before she leans down and kisses Santana on the lips. Brittany's leg slips between Santana's, and she gently rocks her body forward, her thigh rubbing against wet heat. Santana moans into the kiss and rocks back, and they fall into a slow rhythm after that.

The tension builds up in Santana's body, and soon, her hips are bucking wildly, her tongue dipping into Brittany's mouth, seeking heat. Brittany rocks harder, her palm cupping one of Santana's breasts as she rolls the pad of her thumb over the pebbled tip.

Santana peaks with a muffled cry, her hands gripping Brittany's ass as she grinds herself shamelessly against Brittany's thigh. After a few thrusts, Brittany groans, her body quivering as she's taken over the edge again.

They kiss lazily for a few more moments before Brittany lifts herself up and rolls over on the hammock. She smiles up at the sky, at the bright stars, and Santana leans closer presses a kiss to her cheek. Brittany turns her head and meets Santana's lips with her own. They share a quick, tender kiss before Brittany nuzzles into Santana's neck and throws an arm over her torso.

It's relaxing and easy and exactly what a vacation with her wife should be, and Santana finds herself drifting off.

Brittany suddenly stirs. "There are those clinic places," she says out of the blue, "where you can look through a catalog of sperm donors."

Santana brings a hand up to brush Brittany's hair. "That feels so… impersonal. Besides, what if the guy is a total douchebag and gives our kid douchebag genes?"

"I'm pretty sure there's no gene that determines that, Santana," Brittany replies, laughing. "And even if there were, we'd raise them right." She twists her body until she's facing Santana. "You don't want a stranger?"

"I just—" Santana sighs. "This is going to be our _kid_ , Britt. I just think we need to look over all our options carefully, that's all."

"We should find someone who kinda looks like you," Brittany says. "Tanned skin, dark hair…"

Santana smiles faintly. "I don't care what he looks like, B."

Brittany perks up. "He?"

"Lack of gender-neutral pronoun," Santana explains, waving her hand dismissively in the air.

"We don't have to make a decision now." Brittany curls up against Santana's side and shuts her eyes. "We've got time."

"Yeah," Santana breathes out. "We sleeping out here tonight?"

"Can we?" Brittany asks around a yawn.

Santana kisses Brittany's cheek and pulls her closer. "Sure, just gonna get us a blanket first."

\--

Vacation comes to an end too early for either of their liking, but Santana makes Brittany a promise to return every year, if not to Fiji, then to somewhere else far away from their everyday lives, away from routine.

Upon their return to Las Vegas, Quinn starts whisking Brittany and Santana away to gown fittings and florists and caterers for their upcoming wedding. The second one. On top of that, Jessica St. James's party is apparently unhappy with the results of their fight and has sent out an official challenge, and Quinn schedules a rematch to be fought in three months time. Santana returns to training, and with everything that's happening around her, she doesn't get much of a chance to continue the conversation she'd started with Brittany in Fiji.

It happens over dinner at Mike and Quinn's one night. Mike's talking about one of his classes, Quinn's staring adoringly at him, and Brittany is laughing along as he mentions people from the dance studio that she is familiar with. Santana, mostly, has zoned out.

"Matt," Santana says suddenly, startling the other three.

Brittany looks around, concerned. "Where?"

"No, I—" Santana laughs, the words tumbling from her lips. "Our donor should be Matt, if he's willing, which is a big if, but he's—I trust him with my life."

"Wait," Quinn interjects, "you two are planning a baby?"

"Okay," says Brittany, eyes wide. "Yes."

"Are you sure?" Santana asks, heart pounding inexplicably fast. "This is—we can take some time to think about this."

"Let's at least ask, first," Brittany replies. "He could say no."

"You're right, I—" Santana rises from her seat, nearly knocking over the table. "I gotta go."

Quinn reaches for Santana's retreating form. "Lopez, what the hell is going on?"

It isn't until Brittany takes Santana's hand and tugs her back toward her seat that she sits down and takes a breath.

"Sorry, got a little ahead of myself. I need to go ask Matt if he'll knock up my wife," Santana explains.

Quinn laughs. "No, seriously, _what_?"

"We're having a baby," Brittany says with a smile. "Or we will once we find a donor."

"Do you think we should even be asking Matt?" Santana asks, suddenly self-conscious. "It's a huge thing to just spring on someone."

Quinn reaches across the table and lightly touches Santana's hand. "If he doesn't want to, he can always say no. No harm in asking. You've been through way more than this together."

Fears momentarily assuaged, Santana nods. "Okay, I'll bring it up tomorrow."

The rest of the meal goes smoothly, though Santana has difficulty concentrating on any words being exchanged. Brittany squeezes her hand a few times under the table, but other than that says nothing.

After dinner, Santana helps Quinn with the dishes while Mike and Brittany run off to catch some terrible reality show. By "help," it mostly means that Santana sits atop the kitchen counter and picks her nails while Quinn rinses the dishes in the sink.

"Once we work out a donor and everything," Santana broaches, "I'm gonna have less time to train."

Quinn looks up. "Why? Brittany's the one getting pregnant."

"Yeah, I know," Santana replies, nodding, "but I want to be around. If she needs me, that comes first. I'm only telling you because I know it's your job to schedule fights for me, but if there's an emergency, I'm bailing. My family is my top priority."

"I understand." Quinn smiles. "You're gonna spoil that kid rotten, aren't you?"

Santana chuckles. "Wouldn't you?"

Quinn glances over her shoulder toward the couch in the living room. "Mike's more the spoiling kind, I think."

"Yeah? You two ever—?"

"We're not even married," Quinn points out, but her cheeks flush.

"For the best, probably," Santana deadpans. "Little control freaks that look like you running around? No me fucking gusta."

Quinn rolls her eyes and flicks some soapy dishwater at Santana.

\--

 _Santana entire body is shaking, and she's pretty sure she's about to vomit._

 _"I'm not gay," she mumbles. "Matt, I'm not_ gay _."_

 _Matt pulls her close. "Okay," he says gently, undisputingly. He rocks her, and she lets him. "You're anything you want to be, Scout. Anything you want, and ain't nobody gonna stop you."_

 _Matt holds her while she cries, an ugly kind of crying with snot and spit, and if it'd been anyone else, Santana wouldn't have let them see her like this. But it's Matt, and even though they've never actually talked about any of this, there's an implicit understanding the two of them share that's comforting._

 _When she finally manages to stop crying, Matt hands her a tissue and brushes the hair out of her face._

 _Santana hiccups. "I asked Brittany to be my girlfriend."_

 _Matt waits patiently._

 _"She said yes," Santana continues, "but I—I'm not a dyke. I don't need this or want it. I don't. I_ don't _, Matt."_

 _"Scout," Matt cuts in. "Tell me about Brittany."_

 _Santana blinks away drying tears. "You've met her a hundred times."_

 _Matt nods. "I know. I want_ you _to tell me about her."_

 _"She's—I don't know." Santana takes a shaky breath. "She's amazing, Matt. She's so sweet and so pretty and when she dances, it's like you can't look away." Santana swallows hard when she realizes what she's said. "How do I know if it's just Brittany or if it's all girls?" she asks quietly._

 _"You'll figure it out," Matt tells her._

 _Santana sniffs. "How can you be so sure?"_

 _"Look, I love your midget ass and everything, but I'm not having the birds and the bees talk with you." Matt laughs. "And hell, Scout, if it turns out that you do like a little pussy, you'd make damn sure you're the best carpet muncher out there."_

 _Santana bites back a smile and punches Matt on the shoulder. "You're kind of an asshole."_

 _"Just giving it to you straight." Matt laughs loudly and obnoxiously at his own joke._

 _Santana rolls her eyes. "I don't know why I put up with you."_

 _"Hey," Matt says once he's sobered up, looking more serious than Santana's ever seen him. "This doesn't change anything, you got that? Absolutely nothing. You ever want to talk, you know where to find me. I mean, we got something in common, right? We both dig chicks."_

 _Santana tries for a small smile. "Thanks, Matt."_

\--

The next morning, instead of waiting for Matt to pick her up, she drives to his place and knocks loudly on his door until he answers it half-asleep.

"Did you lose your watch or just your damn mind?" Matt grumbles as he steps aside and lets her in.

Santana heads to his kitchen to make him some coffee. He approaches from behind and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Scout."

Santana turns. "What?"

Matt looks curiously at her, a small, knowing grin playing on his lips. "Something good happen?"

"I—what?"

Matt smirks. "You're _glowing_. Lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. Ain't fooling no one, sis. You either won the lottery or Brittany googled some kinky shit. I don't wanna know about any of _that_ , but if you've landed some wealth…" He waggles his eyebrows at her.

Santana cannot even process Matt's words, so she mostly ignores them. "Brittany," she begins, and then has to stop and pull back her grin. She laughs, almost like she still doesn't believe it herself. She steps closer, needing to see the look in Matt's eyes when she breaks the news. "Matt," she says, clutching at his forearm, "Britt and I—we're gonna start a family."

It doesn't sink in immediately. "You're gonna start a family," he echoes tonelessly. Then, realization strikes his features. "You and Britt—holy _shit_. I'm going to be a fucking badass uncle."

Santana laughs, her cheeks flushing. "You watch your mouth around the kid though."

Matt pulls Santana into a crushing embrace. "Look at my little baby sis," he gushes, "all grown up."

Santana squirms. "Aw, c'mon, don't sap out on me now, Matt. I get enough of that shit from Fabray."

Matt loosens his grip slightly and looks at her. "You gonna name the kid Matt Jr., right? If it's a little dude."

Santana snorts. "And if it's a girl?"

"Mattie? Matilda?" Matt smirks. "Hey, I ain't picky."

She laughs. "Let me guess, our kid should take your last name, too?"

"Only 'cause Rutherford is _boss_."

There's a moment when Santana considers backing out, because it doesn't feel like something she should be asking anyone unless they offer first. It's not something Matt has signed up for just because one of his oldest and best friends is gay, and biology, often, is unfair.

But for Santana, who has never been close to her own parents and barely knows where they even are these days, Matt _is_ her family. Screw anyone who believes otherwise, that blood is somehow stronger than the experiences that shape a relationship. If she can't ask Matt, she can't ask anyone.

Santana touches Matt's arm. "I actually have something important I want to ask you."

"All ears."

"Well," Santana starts, swallowing hard, "you know how Brittany and I need a little help getting pregnant..."

Matt laughs knowingly. "You want me to knock up your wife."

Santana flushes. "Without actually, you know, going anywhere near her. Obviously. You can say no. I just thought—I mean, we could find someone else if this is too weird."

"Scout," Matt interrupts. "It'd be an honor."

"Yeah?" Santana asks, feeling her heart soar. "You can take some time to think about this. We're in no hurry."

"Yeah, I'll do it," Matt reassures, grinning wide. "I'll be your baby daddy."

"Don't fucking say it like that," Santana admonishes, laughing.

Matt lightly nudges Santana's shoulder. "You just let me know what I gotta do."

Santana nods. "We still have to look into it, but as soon as I know, you'll know."

Matt pulls her into another crushing hug. "I'm really proud of you, you know that? You've come a long way from your bruised knuckles and swinging fists."

Santana smiles against Matt's shoulder. "I still do plenty of ass-kicking," she mumbles.

"Yeah, well, your punches are a lot better aimed now," Matt counters, releasing her. "Man, little Santana Lopez, with a _kid_. Tiny dude's gonna have you _whipped_ , just the way Blondie does."

Santana doesn't even bother disputing that assessment.

\--

The calendar hanging in their hallway has dates marked on them. Important ones. It's July, and Santana's rematch is scheduled for October. The wedding ceremony, which Quinn had somehow managed to plan in a month and a half, is in two weeks. And tomorrow, they have an appointment at a fertility clinic.

"So I just..." Matt makes a jerking motion with his hand. "At the clinic?"

"Yeah, into a cup," Brittany replies. "They can give you aids, if you need them."

Matt's eyes widen. " _What_? AIDS?"

Santana clears her throat, flushing. "She means porn. Masturbatory aids. You can bring your own, if you'd like."

Matt stares blankly at the two and laughs. "You're so damn lucky I love both of you."

Leaning forward, Santana touches Matt's arm. "You don't have to do this. Seriously, if there's any hesitation..."

Matt's expression sobers. "No, I want to. Honest."

"There'll be some paperwork," Santana rambles on, her nerves getting the best of her. "It's just some basic parental rights stuff. Since we're not married in the eye of the state—" She glances at Brittany and knows that she shares the same twinge of discomfort at that thought. "—I'll have to go through the adoption process once the baby's born to tie up the legal ends, but that's after, and—"

"Scout," Matt interrupts. "We got this. One step at a time, all right? We'll worry about all that when it comes up."

"Okay," Santana agrees. "That's—yeah, okay."

Brittany leans closer, her shoulder bumping against Santana's. "Everything's going to be fine, babe. Relax."

Santana takes a deep breath. Brittany's right. There's nothing to worry about, at least not until the insemination takes, and whatever awkwardness these conversations cause will be worth it in the long run.

Santana leans in and hugs Matt, eyes squeezing shut. "Thank you," she whispers into his ear, even though she doesn't think there are enough words in the world to show her gratitude.

\--

 _Brittany sprawls out across the grass, her arms stretched high above her head. Her eyes are closed as she faces the sun, and a small smile plays across her lips. Santana sits cross-legged next to her, picking absently at the blades of grass in front of her._

 _"How come I never see your parents?" Brittany asks suddenly, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she squints at Santana._

 _Santana looks up. "You've met my mom."_

 _"Once," Brittany shrugs, "and I don't think you wanted me to."_

 _"Yeah," Santana concedes, "I didn't know she'd be home."_

 _"She seemed nice," Brittany presses._

 _Santana's shoulders rise and fall in a dismissive shrug. She doesn't want to be having this conversation. Brittany watches her for a moment before shutting her eyes again. Her arm falls back down to the grass, her hand landing dangerously close to Santana's knee. Silence surrounds them, but it's not stifling or uncomfortable. Santana's hand slips quietly into Brittany's, and she takes a deep breath._

 _"They're just not around a lot," she explains. "Never been, since I was young." She shrugs. "Matt's mom kinda took me in."_

 _It's all she wants to offer, and it's all Brittany takes._

 _"Family is important to me," Brittany tells her._

 _Instinctively, Santana's grip tightens around Brittany's hand. "I noticed."_

 _Brittany rolls onto her side and smiles at Santana. "You can share my family with me, if you want."_

 _Santana looks down. "Doesn't work like that, Britt. You don't get to choose your family."_

 _"Why not?" Brittany asks, cocking her head to the side._

 _Santana shrugs. "Family is something you're born into."_

 _Brittany frowns. "What about parents who adopt? Are they not a family?"_

 _"That's different," Santana argues._

 _"Why?" Brittany asks, gaining momentum as she pushes herself onto her elbow. "What about Charity and Lord Tubbington? Or what if we get married and want to have a baby?"_

 _Santana's heart skips. "Brittany—"_

 _"Family is a bunch of people you love who love you, no matter what," Brittany insists. "Family is a place you feel like you belong. If that's with Matt and his mom, then they're your family, too."_

 _Brittany pushes herself up and leans closer, grinning as she presses a kiss to the corner of Santana's mouth._

 _"You're my family, Santana."_

 _Santana offers a small smile. "When did you get so smart?"_

\--

The second wedding is a loud affair with far too many people. Sometime around their trip to Fiji, rumors had started circulating about Santana's love life, and shortly after she'd gone back to training, she'd tweeted to officially confirm that yes, she'd gotten married to her longtime girlfriend and that they would be holding another ceremony soon. Of course, that meant having to invite everyone from the gym and a bunch of MMA higher-ups, and that was only Santana's side. The numbers had only gotten bigger from there.

But fuck it, Santana looks hot and loves the attention. She'd already gotten her quiet ceremony back in the gazebo, so this is more of a formality than anything else, though seeing Brittany's proud parents and bratty little sister would've been enough to justify the occasion.

Because in the end, the celebration is not only about their union but also the union of their families, of their friends. It's bringing together people who would otherwise be strangers. It's about a sense of belonging, and Brittany had known that all along.

When the vows are exchanged, everyone cries. Even though they'd gotten a chance to write them this time, Santana mostly ends up tearfully telling Brittany how amazing she is and how much she loves her and will never stop loving her. She doesn't even care that everyone she knows is watching and that she'll probably lose some cred back at the gym.

When it's Brittany's turn, she smiles sweetly and simply says, "I forgot what I was going to say because you look really, really hot right now and I just want to kiss you." The room erupts into laughter, but Brittany just smiles wider. "Santana, I knew from the first moment I met you that you weren't like the others."

It makes Santana cry harder.

Instead of exchanging rings, Brittany loops her right pinky around Santana's left, the tattoos on their wrists facing each other. The kiss they share is chaste, but the applause that follows is deafening.

Later, when Frank Sinatra is crooning in the dance hall, and Brittany is pressed against Santana as they sway gently to the music, Santana rests her temple against Brittany's cheek and smiles.

The past few months of her life have been so insane, she barely believes it herself. Everything's felt so fast-tracked and backwards, but then again, her relationship with Brittany is nothing if not unconventional.

" _In other words_ ," Santana sings along, just loudly enough for Brittany to hear, " _please be true_."

" _In other words_ ," Brittany joins in, her hands firm against the small of Santana's back, " _in other words, I love..._ "

" _You._ "


End file.
